


Lord it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime

by Larkel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Artist Grantaire, Cottagecore, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Rural Setting, Slow Burn, Trans Enjolras, but i just wanted to be able to say i gave you fair warning about how frustrating this is gonna be, enjoltaire - Freeform, good for the liver, good wholesome angst, i am not afraid to sexually frustrate you!, i know this fic isnt long enough for some of you slow burn purists, idiots to lovers, just a lil bit tho!, pastoral fantasy, probably some very light smut later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkel/pseuds/Larkel
Summary: Enjolras inherits a dilapidated, old farmhouse from an estranged but benevolent great uncle. The amis offer to help him fix it up over the summer and, as Éponine helpfully points out, Grantaire is free for the full two and a half months!
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire took another sip of his beer before almost immediately spitting it out again as Bossuet finished recounting the story of how he broke his arm in freshers week.  
“Luckily an extremely hot doctor was on hand to fix me up.” He cooed, slinging an arm around Joly’s shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek.  
“Extremely hot medical student.” Joly corrected him fondly, “But congrats to those of you who are graduating this decade!” He cheered, raising his glass.  
“Here, here.” Chetta chimed in.  
“I’ll drink to that.” Grantaire stated, raising his glass to his lips again. He was still jittery from his final art show which he, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta had attended that afternoon before arriving at the Musain for the last Les Amis meeting before the summer; which was turning into more of an end of exams party in the absence of their fearless leader. Grantaire craned his neck around to look at the door for maybe the hundredth time that evening.  
“He’s still not arrived, R. I’ll let you know when he does.” Chetta winked at him. R just stuck out his tongue at her.  
“Yeah R, you have to cool it, I can see your lost puppy look from across the room.” Éponine told him, sliding onto the bench next to Chetta.  
“Will you guys leave me alone already.” He grumbled, the rest chuckling at his expense.  
“But seriously, well done on your show, R.” Eponine, soothed him, “Chetta texted, said it went really well. I”m sorry I couldn’t be there.” Grantaire waved a hand dismissively.  
“You had to work.”  
“Still.”

“Oh look, he’s here.” Chetta gestured towards the door with her glass as a harried and pale Enjolras finally swept into the café’s back room and slotted into the seat Combeferre and Courfeyrac had saved next to them; the trio’s heads immediately bending forward into their usual conspiratory discussion. Grantaire’s brow furrowed at the usually stoic leader’s frazzled appearance.  
“Do you guys know where he’s been?” They all shook their heads in response. Grantaire leaned his chair back, “Hey, Feuilly.” He signalled to the red-head on the next table, who turned with a smile.  
“Hey R, what’s up?”  
“Do you know where Enjolras has been?”  
“Oh, I think he said it was a family thing of some sort.”  
“A family thing?” Grantaire queried. In all the time he had known Enjolras he’d never once been to a ‘family thing’. From what he understood they didn’t get on well to put it mildly.  
“That’s all I know.” Feuilly shrugged, turning back to his conversation with Bahorel and Jehan.

“Ahem.” Enjolras signalled for everyone’s attention, standing next to his chair. “Sorry I’m late everyone.”  
“It’s alright Enjolras,” Cosette, somewhat daringly, interrupted, “but, er, are you ok? You seem…”  
“I’m fine, thank you Cosette.”  
“You do look flustered, Enjolras.” Grantaire piped up, revelling in the long-suffering gaze that settled on him in response. “What’s gotten under your marble skin?” He teased.  
“Well if you must know, Grantaire,” Enjolras gritted out, lingering on R’s name, “I’ve just come from the reading of my great uncle’s will- It’s FINE, I never even met him!” He insisted, over the answering noise of surprise and concern.  
“Did he leave you something?” Marius asked, somewhat tactlessly.  
“Marius!” Cosette admonished in a hushed tone.  
“He left me everything.” Enjolras admitted, shoulders sagging slightly. “I guess he disliked the rest of my family almost as much as I do. There’s some savings, although very depleted by all his medical bills, and,” he paused, then sighed, “a great big, run down manor house and six acres of farm land.”  
Even Enjolras couldn’t silence the ruckus that raised.  
“Oh my god!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, “You’re like an old-timey baron or something!” Enjolras frowned at him.  
“Can we all come out and visit you in your country palace or are you too rich for us now?” Éponine called.  
“Obviously I’m not keeping it!” Enjolras yelled back over the chaos. That caught everyone’s attention.  
“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac demanded, aghast.  
“Have I been talking to myself for the last three years?” Enjolras stormed. “Inheritance tax in this country is a joke. It’s already criminal how much of the wealth I’ll be allowed to keep. That alone is enough to warrant selling it and donating the money. But beyond that, I’m hardly going to move, on my own, to the middle of nowhere, and live on a farm! And if I’m not going to live in it, I’m not going to leave it empty, and I’m certainly not renting it out like a crook!” Enjolras looked defeated as his rant came to an end. “Not that anyone in their right mind would buy it in it’s current state. And there isn’t nearly enough money to hire people to fix it up.” He finished, slumping back onto his seat. Combeferre placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but otherwise uncharacteristically unable to offer advice.  
“Well don’t be silly, Enj,” Feuilly called out, “We’ll help you get it patched up. You forget I’m a trained construction worker. And Bahorel knows more about DIY than I do.”  
“Yeah.” Interjected Éponine, with a dangerous glint in her eye that Grantaire did not like one bit, “R’s great at DIY and stuff too. And he was just saying the other day he doesn’t know how he’s gonna find a place cheap enough for an artist’s salary now his student accommodation is running out.”  
“Good point, Ép.” Chetta joined in, catching on, “You can keep Enj company and help out while working on your portfolio and living rent free! It’s win-win!” Grantaire glared helplessly at the pair, before finally turning to gauge Enjolras’ reaction who, he was surprised to find, was looking expectantly at him.  
“Err, well, I mean. If, if that, if you would be ok with that?” He stuttered.  
“That would be great, R.” Enjolras consented, softly.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly as people offered various slots of time to help out in between prior commitments, and made various arrangements.  
“I’m sorry we won’t be able to help out.” Cosette apologised, Marius nodding solemnly next to her, “We wouldn’t have planned to be away all summer if we’d known.”  
“That’s alright, I hope you have a wonderful trip.” Enjolras reassured them.  
“I think we’ll manage without your considerable practical talents, eh Marius.” Courf teased.  
“Says you!” Marius retorted, earning a snort from Combeferre and an indignant gasp from Courfeyrac.  
“Yeah, I gotta work this summer, and keep Gav out of trouble, but I’ll try and visit if I can get the time off.” Éponine interjected, as she gathered her things and made to leave.  
“Of course.” Enjolras hastily replied, “The fact that any of you are giving any time to help me out is already overwhelming.”  
“It’s what friends doooo!” Courfeyrac trilled, leaning into Enjolras’ side and wrapping his arms around him.  
R grins, shrugging on his jacket and preparing to follow Eponine out.  
“Hang on Grantaire.” Enjolras called after him, untangling himself from Courf’s arms and grabbing his own jacket. “Let’s talk outside.”  
“Oh?.. Kay.” He replied, surprised.

The two stepped out onto the street and turned to face each other, Grantaire shoved his hands in his pockets, kind of wishing he hadn’t quit smoking.  
“Um. So I just wanted to say that, although I really appreciate your offer to help…”  
‘Here it comes’, Grantaire thought, he doesn’t want me hanging around all summer, so he’s trying to politely tell me to piss off.  
“If you’d rather not have me darken your doorstep thats fine, Enjolras.” He told him, hoping he made it sound fine.  
“No, its not that.” Enjolras frowned. “It would be great to have you there. I, I’d actually really rather not be alone in a big house in the middle of nowhere like that. I was just going to say that I know trying to rebuild some, most likely haunted, old barn with me all summer probably wasn’t in your plans and you really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  
“You don’t like being alone?” Grantaire asked, his expression softening.  
“Not really.” Enjolras admitted, looking at his feet, “I’ve never lived on my own, and the idea doesn’t really appeal.”  
“It’s fine, Enjolras. You really would be doing me a favour. Rent in Paris is not very starving artist friendly. Frankly, it’s this or get a customer service job.”  
“Ha.”  
“Exactly.” Grantaire replied, smiling at having made Enjolras laugh.  
“Ok. Well, if you’re sure?” Grantaire nodded. “I get the keys on the 20th, so I guess we’ll drive down then? I can pick you up from your place.” Enjolras suggested.  
“Sounds good.” Grantaire swallowed.  
“I guess I’ll see you then.” And with that Enjolras swept back inside, leaving Grantaire to wonder what on earth he was getting himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to imagine the bit where they arrive at the house as that one scene from mamma mia 2 where lily james explores the empty hotel she finds. except in this there's no singing. and there's no horse in the basement. and no surprisingly hot young pierce brosnan on a motorcycle to save them.

Grantaire stood nervously in the living room of his almost completely vacated flat. His two roommates had moved out for the summer over the course of the week and now all of his own belongings were packed into a couple of bags and boxes, which he’d piled next to the door. He began to realise that university was over. He’d been so caught up in assessments and making arrangements for the summer that he hadn’t really prepared himself for this. He jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him out of his reverie. A text from Enjolras.

‘I’m outside. Do you need help with your stuff?’

Grantaire glanced at his easel and stack of canvases.

‘Yes please’

It felt oddly intimate having Enjolras in his flat, lugging boxes down the stairs to his car with him. Like something a boyfriend might do.  
‘Nope. Stop that train of thought right there.’ Grantaire scolded himself, shaking his head.  
When they exited out onto the pavement, Grantaire immediately spotted the car that must belong to Enjolras. A tiny, and very beaten up, brick red car was parked, not particularly well, a few spaces along.  
“Jesus, did you buy it like that or did you inflict those wounds?” Grantaire asked.  
“Er, a bit of both.” Enjolras muttered ominously, balancing his box on this hip and fishing around in his pocket for the keys.  
“Is all my stuff gonna fit?” Grantaire asked, the potential problem suddenly occurring to him.  
“Should do. I’ve just got my rucksack so there’s plenty of space.”  
“So little?” Grantaire queried.  
“Ferre’s gonna bring the rest of my stuff tomorrow when they drive down. Feuilly’s boss leant him one of the company pick-up trucks”  
“Oh, nice.” Grantaire said, dumbly.

It took them a couple more trips and a bit of Tetrising to get everything in, but they managed, finally slumping into the front seats. Enjolras took a deep breath, eyes flitting nervously over to Grantaire for a moment.  
“Right. Here we go.” He put the car into gear and pulled out, setting off down the street. Grantaire watched his hands on the steering wheel for a minute.  
“I don’t think I knew you could drive.” He told him. Enjolras huffed out a laugh.  
“Ferre would tell you I can’t.”  
“Should I be concerned?” Grantaire asked him, playfully.  
“You should put your seatbelt on.” Enjolras bat back. Grantaire laughed, but did pull his seatbelt across and click it into place. Just to be safe.  
“Where actually is this place by the way? I never even asked.”  
“Um, it’s about four hours south of Paris. It’s actually in the Volcans d'Auvergne national park, near a town called, er, Murol.” Grantaire gave a low whistle.  
“Damn.”  
“Yeah.” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire watched the classical stone buildings of central Paris turning into suburbs, and, gradually, the suburbs turning into long stretches of motorway cutting through grassy, yellow fields. Enjolras had turned the radio on a low volume, and had spent the journey tapping along to the tinny tunes and listening with mild interest to the news updates and interviews. The afternoon sun streamed through the car windows, heating the vinyl interior until it was hot to the touch and Grantaire shifted in his seat, stretching dozily in the comfortable warmth.  
“We should be there soon.” Enjolras reassured him, glancing sideways as he spoke. “Although, if we go through the town it would be good to stop and pick up some groceries.”  
“Ok.” Grantaire yawned, rubbing a hand over his face to wake himself up.

They did pass through Murol and Grantaire was jolted into a more wakeful state when the front wheel bumped up onto the curb jarringly.  
“Sorry,” Enjolras muttered, craning around to look behind them in his attempt at parallel parking, “told you I couldn’t drive.”  
“That’s- oof- ok.” Grantaire replied, as the back wheel hit the curb too. “You’re still better than me.” Enjolras looked at him blankly. “I never learned.” Grantaire clarified.  
“Oh.”  
They climbed out of the tiny car, stretching and shaking out their joints after the long journey. Grantaire peered around at the small square. It was pretty in a quaint sort of way, if a bit touristy. He turned back to face Enjolras whose own eyes hastily shifted away.  
“We only need enough for dinner and breakfast, Ferre’s gonna bring proper groceries, so we can probably get everything we need here.” Enjolras pointed at a modest-looking corner store.  
“It’s quite busy for a small town.” Grantaire noted instead of replying, as they set off across the green in the direction of the shop.  
“I think there’s a castle nearby that attracts a lot of visitors.”  
“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Grantaire jabbed. Enjolras sighed, exasperated.  
“Are you going to make fun of me all summer?”  
“Uh. No.” Grantaire assured him, a little taken aback.  
He followed the blond around the cramped store, just watching as he placed various items in a basket, only speaking to answer the questions Enjolras asked him.  
“You take your coffee black too, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Is oat milk okay for cereal?”  
“Uh huh.”  
When they got to the till Grantaire started fumbling for his wallet.  
“Don’t worry, I got it.” Enjolras said, tapping his card against the reader.  
“Y’sure? You’re already giving me a place to live all summer.” Grantaire fretted.  
“We’ll call it a business expense.” Enjolras joked.  
“Ah. The old savings.” Grantaire slipped his wallet back in his pocket, satisfied. “They stretch far enough to cover groceries then?”  
“Enough to buy you dinner.”  
“You’re like my sugar daddy or something.” Grantaire’s mouth said, before his brain could catch up and tackle the offending phrase to the ground. Enjolras stiffened slightly. Even the cashier seemed to start stuffing groceries into bags a little faster. “Er, sorry. I’ll um.” He grabbed the bags from the counter just as the last item was placed on top and hurried out the door. He headed over to the car, shoving the bags into the footwell and sinking into his seat. He watched Enjolras exit the shop and walk over to the car, not taking his eyes off the cobblestones, and wondered if he’d be able to go five minutes all summer without saying something that made him uncomfortable.

After an excruciatingly silent, but mercifully short, drive, they turned up the driveway of the house and the enigmatic building came into view.  
“Holy shit.” Grantaire breathed. Enjolras looked stricken. An enormous manor house, covered in overgrown wisteria, honeysuckle and ivy, and quite clearly worse for wear in a few spots, lay before them. The car rolled to a halt and Enjolras turned off the engine. The two men stepped out of the car, not taking their eyes off the monstrous house. It was Grantaire who moved first, stepping forward with a worried glance at Enjolras who was as still and pale as a statue under the house’s gorgon gaze. He crossed the debris-littered patio at the front of the house, taking care to step over the shards of terracotta roof tile. The patio was bordered by a low, knee-high wall with the remnants of a flowerbed at its centre, and it was shaded by a straw cover full of large holes that let the sunlight through in puddles. Grantaire walked up to the house itself and ran his hand over the crumbly, sand-coloured stone wall, avoiding standing underneath any of the faded and flaking, turquoise-painted shutters that bordered the windows, many of which had come loose and were hanging quite precariously above him. Meanwhile, Enjolras had managed to stir himself and had cautiously picked his way over to the front door. Grantaire joined him as he took a comically large, old-fashioned key out of his bag and fit it into the lock. Turning it with some effort and trying the handle. Nothing.  
“It won’t budge. I felt the lock click but it’s stuck.”  
“Maybe it was unlocked already and you relocked it?” Grantaire suggested. Enjolras frowned but turned the key back and tried again. Still nothing.  
“Nope.” He huffed, turning the key back again.  
“Scooch.” Grantaire requested, nudging Enjolras away from the door, the smaller man moving pliantly. Grantaire braced his considerably larger frame against the door and shoved with a small grunt. The door shifted slightly inwards.  
“Yeah, I guess it’s warped in the frame a bit. We’ll just have to sand it down a bit, not to worry.” He turned to see Enjolras avoiding his gaze.  
“Ok.” He squeaked. Grantaire hastily turned back to the door and shoved again, this time it swung open and Grantaire had to stumble forward to keep his footing, suddenly finding himself in a dimly-lit and cluttered but spacious entry way that smelt strongly of something woody and a bit damp. Enjolras had tentatively followed him in and was standing very close at Grantaire’s side.  
“Spooky.” He muttered.  
“Do you believe in ghosts, Enjolras?” Grantaire joked.  
“No.” Enjolras stated, walking ahead into the dark house, but it wasn’t entirely convincing.

The pair wandered around, exploring the various rooms on the ground floor; two living rooms, a dining room, a study, even what appeared to be a small reading room. The inside appeared to be less dilapidated than the outside, thankfully. Finally, they alighted upon the kitchen which led onto a back terrace through shuttered french-windows that creaked loudly when Grantaire pulled them hesitantly open.  
“I think I prefer being outside.” He stated with an exhale, as they stepped out onto the large, empty terrace.  
“Maybe it would be safer to sleep out here.” Enjolras pondered aloud.  
“I think you’ll change your mind when the sun goes down. Not to mention, this is wolf country.”  
“Wolves?!” Enjolras repeated, eyes like saucers.  
“And bears, and wild boar.” Grantaire nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in spite of himself. “We’re not in Paris anymore, where the most dangerous animals out at night are Eponine’s ex-boyfriends.” Enjolras barked a laugh.  
“I thought Montparnasse was very charming when I met him.” He teased.  
“That’s how he gets you.” Grantaire replied darkly, quickly suppressing a pang of absurd jealousy. “Anyway, we should get the stuff in from the car and set up some sort of camp before it gets dark.”  
“Good idea.” Enjolras agreed, suddenly sober. They made their way back through the house to the car and started unloading boxes.  
“Should we take them upstairs?” Grantaire asked, peering up the wide staircase in the entry way.  
“I guess.” Enjolras worried at his lip, assessing it; most likely calculating the probability of the stairs collapsing underneath them.

The stairs didn’t collapse and they managed to get everything in the house, picking the two least scary looking bedrooms to drop their stuff.  
“I have a pre-paid wifi thingy.” Enjolras told him, pulling a plastic box out of his bag as Grantaire propped the last of his canvases against the wall of ‘his’ room, “And a battery pack, although hopefully the electricity will work.” Grantaire fetched his charger from his backpack, crossed to the nearest socket and plugged it in, his phone lighting up with a satisfying ‘ding’.  
“Plugs work.” He called over his shoulder.  
“Oh good.” Enjolras exhaled, stuffing the battery back in his bag.  
“I could use that wifi code though. My data’s practically non-existent.” Enjolras handed it to him without a word. “Let me guess.” Grantaire said, tapping the password into his phone, “Ferre set you up with all this?”  
“There’s a camping stove under the backseat of the car.” Enjolras deadpanned. Grantaire snorted.  
“Of course there is. Speaking of, shall we go and check if the oven works? I’m starving.”  
“Definitely.” Enjolras nodded, enthusiastically.

“Ah ha!” Grantaire exclaimed, as the smallest burner ring came to life.  
“I can’t believe it actually works.” Enjolras stated, shaking his head in incredulity. “I’m a little anxious it’s gonna explode or something. Can that happen?”  
“Shh,” Grantaire hushed him, moving the saucepan they’d found over the flames, “don’t jinx it.” 

Grantaire stirred the slowly heating soup they’d bought while Enjolras sliced bread and cheese onto a plate. They went outside and sat on the edge of the terrace to eat, legs swinging idly over the grass below, which dropped away into miles of rolling fields, bathed in soft, blue hour light. Every sound seemed amplified in the silence of the countryside, the cicadas like lawnmowers in the scattered trees.  
“Reminds me of where I grew up.” Grantaire noted casually.  
“Oh? Where was that?” Enjolras asked.  
“Er, northern Spain. You won’t have heard of the town, obviously, but we had a little bit of land, like this, and we reared some animals and grew vegetables and stuff, you know.” Grantaire rambled, but Enjolras was stunned.  
“How did I not know you were Spanish?”  
“You didn’t?” Enjolras shook his head and Grantaire burst out laughing.  
“I’m so embarrassed. I’m really sorry Grantaire.” But Grantaire just waved him off.  
“It’s fine, Apollo,” he assured him, still chuckling, “We were right on the border. It may as well have been France. I was raised bilingual and I’ve been told I don’t have an accent.” Enjolras shook his head vehemently.  
“No accent at all.” He confirmed.  
“Just one of those things you don’t know til you know, I guess.” There was a short, uncomfortable silence.  
“So what drew you to Paris?” Enjolras asked him, changing the subject.  
“The art.” Grantaire answered reflexively. “I grew up reading books about the art in Paris. It was always my dream to go to school there.”  
“And do your parents… I mean, I’ve never heard you mention them?..”  
“They’re as supportive as they can be.” Grantaire stated adamantly. “You know, they don’t really get it, the whole gay artist thing.” he smirked, “It’s easier for them to understand my sister, for example, she’s studying architecture. They know that’s a good, well-paid job.”  
“Oh, right.” Enjolras responded. Grantaire frowned, puzzled at his lacklustre response. Before he could say anything, however, Enjolras stood, untangling his long limbs. “I’m exhausted, I think gonna go to bed.” And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared inside. Grantaire sat for a moment before rising heavily and following him, just in time to watch him vanish through the kitchen door.

Grantaire had retreated to the bedroom he’d claimed as his own, calling a perfunctory ‘goodnight’ at Enjolras’ closed door, receiving a clipped and muffled response. Grantaire wondered what he’d said to evoke this reaction. Maybe Enjolras had just remembered one of the dumb things he’d said earlier and decided he’d rather not be in his company anymore. Or maybe, a small, kind corner of Grantaire’s brain thought, maybe he’s just tired.

Grantaire pulled on an old t-shirt and some jogging bottoms; it was warm enough to sleep without them but he’d rather not be more exposed than necessary to whatever creepy crawlies might be lurking in the gloom. Just as he was settling into the large, dusty old bed, a yelp came from across the hall where Enjolras was sleeping.  
“Enjolras?” Grantaire called, already back on his feet and moving towards the door. He pulled it open just as Enjolras’ small but surprisingly sharp frame barrelled straight into his chest. “OOF.” Grantaire huffed as all the air was pushed out of him.  
“Sorry!” Enjolras squeaked. “There’s birds in my room.” He tumbled out in a rush. “Can I sleep in here?” Grantaire hesitated, partly as he tried to pull some air back into his lungs, partly as he tried to process the situation, and partly because some small part of him that wasn’t a complete masochist was screaming at him that sharing a bed with Enjolras was maybe not the best idea. “Please ‘Aire.” Enjolras pleaded, voice small and tired.  
“Yeah, of course.” Grantaire breathed, winded for the second time in as many minutes by Enjolras’ use of his nickname. Enjolras nodded his thanks and walked around to the other side of the bed, clambering under the cover and rolling to face away from him. Grantaire sighed and climbed carefully into his side of the bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He quietly grabbed his phone from the nightstand, shooting off an SOS text to Eponine, explaining the situation.

‘Hahahahah’ was all the reply he got.

He chucked his phone back onto the table and closed his eyes, focussing on the sound of Enjolras’ even breaths on the pillow next to his. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's probably typos in this because i'm working on this between working on essays and my dissertation. so sorry about that. if anyone would be willing to beta my work for me Please let me know <3
> 
> btw you can find me on tumblr @rerevolutionaries


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire awoke the next morning, sinuses clogged with dust and sunlight streaming into his eyes. He lifted his hands to shield his face and tried to remember where he was, coming up empty. Turning his head to the side to further flee the sun’s rays he found himself nose to nose with and just as dazzled by Enjolras, who was still sleeping soundly beside him. Grantaire clamped a hand over his mouth to suppress any noise that might wake him and shuffled quickly away, stumbling as he propelled himself out of the cocoon of moth-eaten sheets. He stood for a moment, catching his breath and watching the sleeping form. Enjolras’ features were even more delicate in sleep, and heartbreakingly serene. His arm was thrown haphazardly above his head and his lips were parted, as if frozen in a heavy sigh, and his long, aureate hair cascaded over the pillow, gleaming in the morning light. Torn, a small part of Grantaire wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend this was a normal way for him to wake up, that he could reach out and run a hand through that bright hair, not convinced it wouldn’t burn him but sure it would be worth it, if it did. However, a larger part of him wanted not to be completely desperate and also wanted some coffee, so he turned away and trudged downstairs.

He clattered around the kitchen, searching through cupboards until he found a cafetière and set to work as quietly as possible, then, cradling the fresh cup of coffee in his hands like a baby bird, he stepped out on to the terrace to drink it. He glanced around, searching until he found an upturned and cobwebbed folding chair that he put back on its feet and gingerly lowered himself into. It didn’t collapse and Grantaire relaxed back into the creaking canvas, sipping the hot coffee until he felt refreshed and alert, fully appreciating the clear, quiet morning.

Soft footsteps in the kitchen made him turn his head, breath catching as Enjolras emerged through the glass doors. He was still in the pyjama bottoms and faded Green Day t-shirt he’d slept in, barefoot, his hair shoved haphazardly into a loose bun. Slightly puffy eyes squinted at the bright morning, expression still soft with sleepiness.  
“You’re up early.” He stated, in a croaky voice that made Grantaire’s stomach flip.  
“I’ve only been out here ten minutes or so.” He reassured.  
“Yeah, but by choice. I’m only up because Courf called to say they’ve just set off, they’ll be here by twelve-ish, all going well.” A tinge of annoyance accompanied this statement, as if Enjolras was implying that Courfeyrac should know better than to phone him at this hour.  
“Oh.” A pause. “Coffee should still be hot.” Grantaire volunteered. Enjolras brightened slightly and retreated swiftly back into the kitchen. Grantaire’s eyes lingered on him, catching glimpses between the wooden slats of the shutters, as he brushed his fingers against the side of the pot, checking the temperature, then, seemingly satisfied, poured himself a cup and took two gulping sips. He then placed his mug on the side and pulled the cereal box from the cupboard.  
“Have you eaten yet?” He called, eyes flicking towards the door, their gazes meeting before both quickly looked away. Grantaire flushed at being caught staring again.  
“Not yet.” He admitted. Enjolras poured two bowls of cereal with oat milk and brought them out, handing Grantaire his before returning for his coffee and settling down, cross-legged, on one of the flagstones.  
“You can have the chair if you want.” Grantaire offered, making to move, but Enjolras waved him off.  
“I like the floor.”  
They ate in silence, spoons clinking against the bowls, and Grantaire tossing the occasional piece to the few sparrows that were hopping around the edge of the terrace. Enjolras stacked everything when they were done and took the crockery inside to wash-up. Grantaire’s phone buzzed with a text from Musichetta:  
‘Hey we’re leaving for the airport now! Just wanted to check you’re doing ok!’ The genuine concern for his well-being was touching but a little embarrassing.  
‘I’m fine! Don’t any of you worry about me on your trip! Take a holiday from your duty of care!’ He joked back. The JBM trio were heading to Florence for a couple of weeks, otherwise they’d be driving down now with the others. Grantaire could tell they weren’t pleased to leave him alone with Enjolras, knowing how he felt, especially Chetta who’d helped get him into this mess. His phone buzzed again.  
‘Caring about you is an honour not a chore!!’ She had replied, a bunch of heart emojis scattered at the end. Grantaire rolled his eyes fondly, sending back his own string of emojis before locking his phone and sticking it back in his pocket.  
“I’m going to do some work while we wait for the others.” Enjolras informed him, head sticking out the door.  
“Ok.” Grantaire allowed, only slightly startled by his sudden appearance.  
“Do you want to paint or something?”  
“Oh, er, yes.” Grantaire agreed. He’d had no intention of starting painting today but, unwilling to be outdone by Enjolras on anything, he thought he may as well be productive as well.

He decided to paint on the terrace, which was quickly becoming his favourite spot, so as Enjolras disappeared upstairs, he set to work dragging his easel, a canvas, and paints from the hallway where they’d left them, all the way through the house, and set everything up facing out across the fields, until he was stood, just staring at the blank canvas. He thought for a minute then started mixing colours, deciding to start with a background, specifically the landscape in front of him. He wasn’t very good at landscapes, specialising in portraits mostly, so it’d be good practice at least. And so, as the morning stretched on, the dauntingly empty canvas turned into a grassy foreground that stretched into miles of golden fields with an enormous Titian sky hanging over it.  
“I thought you painted people.” Enjolras stated, appearing at the backdoor again.  
“I do.” Grantaire confirmed, drying his brush on a rag and setting it down. “But people usually exist in places, so I have to paint those too. What do you think?” He asked.  
“Of the painting?” Grantaire nodded. “I don’t know anything about art.”  
“Oh.” Grantaire frowned, but Enjolras had already walked back inside, heating up water for coffee.  
“Courf messaged, they’re five minutes away apparently.”  
“Is it twelve already?” Grantaire asked, his stomach promptly rumbling a hearty testimony to the fact.  
“Twelve forty. Bahorel was navigating.”

A few minutes later, Enjolras and Grantaire ventured out to the front of the house and watched as a sturdy-looking pick-up truck turned up the dusty drive-way, the back overloaded with bags and boxes full of supplies, and Courfeyrac already hanging out the window like an excited Labrador. Before the vehicle had even rolled to a stop, Courf had thrown his door open and jumped out, bouncing over to the pair and throwing himself on Enjolras in a bear hug.  
“I missed you!” He sang, releasing Enj only to throw himself onto Grantaire who laughed.  
“You too, Courf.”  
“Sorry we’re late.” Bahorel called over, a little sheepishly, as he, Feuilly, and Combeferre walked up.  
“Don’t worry.” Enjolras smiled, hugging Combeferre as he reached him.  
“Listen,” Grantaire addressed them, as he wrapped an arm around Feuilly, “I’m really pleased to see you and all, but please tell me you’ve brought food.” Combeferre chuckled.  
“Well, we’ve got enough groceries to feed a family of ten for at least a week, but Courf did the shopping so it’s mostly Pringles.” He told them.  
“And amaretti!” Courf added in a unjustifiably defensive tone.  
“Yes. There’s also a lot of amaretti for some reason.” Ferre confirmed.  
“Excellent.” Said Enjolras, dryly, but with a soft look in his eyes that Grantaire wished he would turn on him.

The group carried on chatting as they collected what they could carry from the pickup, bantering back and forth amiably as they walked inside. Bahorel gave a low whistle as they crossed the threshold into the entryway.  
“Impressive.” He remarked, the rest peering around as well.  
“It’s amazing.” Courf agrees. Enjolras just made a non-committal noise as answer and kept walking through to the kitchen, Bahorel and Feuilly trailing behind. Courf and Ferre exchanged a look.  
“How’s he been, R?” Courf asked him in an almost-whisper.  
“Well, you know. Stressed. Quieter than usual, I’d say. A bit… highly-strung.” He muttered back. “But nothing bad.” He emphasised, seeing Ferre’s mouth press into a hard line. Enjolras reentered the room, sans bags, frowning. Courf, without blinking, pointed to a large portrait of a stern looking man.  
“Who’s that?” He asked. Enjolras followed his arm, giving the portrait an appraising look.  
“I don’t know.” He sounded irritated. “I thought you were in a rush to eat lunch, Grantaire.”  
“W- I am.” He startled.  
“Come on then.” And he turned on his heel, returning to the kitchen. The rest following him, Courf and Ferre exchanging another unfathomable glance. That must get annoying, Grantaire thought to himself.

The six of them made short work of putting all the groceries away, and then they made a mess putting together a snack lunch of sandwiches, cheeses, fruits, and crisps. They ate quickly, perched on various chairs, stools and countertops around the kitchen, catching up a little, but, eager to get started, they quickly put their plates aside and set to work cleaning. They began by trying to get the birds out of the eaves of Enjolras’ room, or rather, Feuilly did.  
“This is a common problem.” Feuilly informs them, grimly, as they watch from the safety of the hallway. And it must be, Grantaire thinks, because he manages to remove them without incident, and Courfeyrac claps enthusiastically as the last one is released out the window. After that’s dealt with, they throw open every door and window in the house, tie some tea-towels they found around their faces, and set to work dusting every surface, beating the crap out of the sheets and curtains, and, finally, sweeping the floors, until there wasn’t a spec of dust to be seen. Courfeyrac screamed shrilly every time he found a spider, which was often, and Bahorel managed to pull one of the curtain rods out of the wall. Other than that, however, it went smoothly, and by evening the main rooms of the house actually look habitable, so despite being sweaty and exhausted, they all were all feeling very pleased with themselves.

They decided to pour themselves some drinks and fanned out on the terrace to enjoy them, stretching out over the cool stones and breathing the fresh air deeply, clearing out their lungs. Grantaire propped himself up on one elbow, and used his free hand to push his sweaty hair off his forehead as he listened to Bahorel explaining the curtain rod incident.  
“You don’t know your own strength, Bar.” Feuilly laughs, Bahorel shaking his head forlornly.  
Grantaire glances over at where the other three have set up a small circle of kitchen chairs and is surprised to see Enjolras gazing intently at him, although he turns away sharply as soon as he sees Grantaire watching him. Grantaire turns his head back to Bahorel and Feuilly, but chances a look back out of the corner of his eye and sees Courfeyrac elbowing Enjolras who elbows him right back, while Ferre rolls his eyes. Grantaire can’t help but wonder what all that was about.

Eventually, tiredness caught up with the group, and a spate of yawns and stretches rippled around the terrace.  
“What’s the sleeping situation Enj?” Feuilly asks, drowsily.  
“Er, well I guess since we’ve got three rooms cleared out now we should pair off and share?” He suggested.  
“Enjolras and I can share one room.” Combeferre said hurriedly, clearly neutralising some sort of situation as Courf’s mischievous grin slipped for a moment, before, alarmingly, reappearing.  
“Then I call sleepover with R!” He called out, gleefully.  
“Rescue me.” Grantaire deadpanned, and saw Enjolras suppress a laugh.  
“Me and you in the third room then, Feu.” Bahorel concluded.

The party slowly trickled upstairs to bed, Enjolras and Combeferre claiming the now birdless master bedroom, Grantaire in the same room as before with Courfeyrac in tow, and Bahorel and Feuilly next door to them.  
“So,” Grantaire heard Courfeyrac begin as he pulled his sleep shirt over his head. This can’t be good, he thought. “did you and Enj get up to anything fun while you were here alone last night?” He queried, waggling his eyebrows, suggestively. Grantaire flushed at the memory of them sharing a bed, and thought it best not to share that particular piece of information. Enjolras had clearly kept it quiet.  
“I don’t know.” Grantaire replied, carefully, “Did you manage to keep your hands off Ferre in the back seat while driving down here?”  
“Shut up.” Courf shot back, flustered.  
“Hey, you wanted to do boy talk.” Grantaire smirked, climbing into bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day is more frustrating and they seem to find problems more than fix them; there are holes in the roof, the upstairs plumbing doesn’t work, and Grantaire is pretty sure he saw a rat in the cellar. He goes to fetch the least flappable person he can find, who follows him from where he’s supervising Feuilly’s examination of the roof problem, flanked by the morbidly curious Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Combeferre sighs grimly.  
“We’ll have to put something down. Rat poi-“  
“No!” Enjolras exclaims.  
“W- Why not?” Grantaire asks him, genuinely surprised and a little alarmed by the outburst, but Courfeyrac is cracking up.  
“We can’t kill them!” He giggles, grabbing Grantaire’s arm for emphasis.  
“Don’t-“ Enjolras warns, but it’s too late.  
“Ratatouille is Enj’s second favourite Disney movie!” Courfeyrac all but sings, practically vibrating on the spot.  
“Oh my god.” Grantaire is positively gleeful, directing a huge, shit-eating grin at Enjolras.  
“Shut up Courf.” Enj grits out, pink tinging his ears as he avoid Grantaire’s eyes.  
“What’s your first favourite?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras just gapes helplessly at him.  
“It’s The Lion King!” Courfeyrac willingly supplies.  
“Aah!” Grantaire squeals, really having the time of his life at this point. Courf grabs his phone from his pocket with a flourish.  
“Look!” He instructs, angling the device towards Grantaire as a grainy video flickers across the cracked screen, and Grantaire catches a glimpse of Enjolras wobbling around on a table, seemingly yelling, or maybe even singing, and definitely drunk, before Enjolras makes a grab for the phone and he and Courfeyrac start tussling for it.  
“They really bring out the worst in each other.” Ferre notes fondly, making no move to break up the fight.  
“I thought you’d be anti-monarchy?” Grantaire calls at the thrashing tangle of limbs.  
“I am.” Enjolras calls back at him firmly, extracting himself, victorious, from Courf’s grip. “I’m also anti-mega-corporation. And I’m vegan. We’ll put down humane traps.” He declares, and, with a decisive nod, he stalks away.  
“Write it down.” Combeferre says.  
“Already on it.” Courf replies, tapping furiously at his phone screen.  
“What?” Grantaire asks them.  
“We keep a quote bank.” Ferre clarifies.  
“Brilliant.” He grins.

“Is there anything else we need while I’m at the store?” Enjolras asks the group at large, as he pulls open the car door, the four of them having migrated outside.  
“I don’t think so…” Ferre says slowly, tapping his index finger against his lower lip and running through some mental checklist.  
“Oh, actually,” Grantaire starts, flushing slightly when Enjolras looks curiously at him. “I was thinking it’d be good to make use of the vegetable patch, save on groceries. There’s a few quick growers that would be perfect…” He trails off.  
“Good idea.” Enjolras acknowledges, Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Enjolras carries on before he can get in a quip about this rare praise. “You’d better come with me, though. I don’t know the first thing about gardening.” Grantaire only hesitates for a second.  
“Sure.” They both clamber into the tiny car and set off down the driveway, the others quickly vanishing behind the cloud of dust the wheels kick up.

"Do you have a favourite?” Enjolras asks, a few minutes into the quiet ride. “Disney film I mean, like when you were growing up.” He adds, self-consciously.  
“Hmm.” Grantaire ponders a moment. “I didn’t watch that much… Maybe the Hunchback of Notre Dame? Is that a Disney movie? What?” Enjolras is chuckling to himself.  
“Of course even your favourite Disney movie’s cool.”  
“It is?”  
“Well, you know, one of the off-beat, well-made ones.” He gestures vaguely, “With an actually villainous villain, not just queer-coded.” They reach a roundabout and Enjolras furrows his brow, concentrating on the road. Flushed from the compliment, Grantaire takes the opportunity to drag his eyes over Enjolras’ marble face, lingering on his delicate jaw and slender shoulders, and the tufty strands of hair at the nape of his neck, too short for his loose bun. Grantaire feels his cheeks warm as a rush of affection washes through him, and he has to turn away and stare out the window for a while to get his breathing back under control.

They pull up outside a small hardware store and walk inside. Enjolras grabs a couple of boxes, enthusiastically marked ‘Rat Catcher Cage. Humane! Live! Catch and Release’, off the shelf, then they wander further into the store in search of gardening supplies. Enjolras watches Grantaire, owl-like, as he throws seed packets; tomatoes, zucchini, radishes, broccoli, turnips, and spinach; into the trolley, along with some bags of fertiliser and a few tools for good measure. Then they sidle up to the counter, Grantaire not objecting this time when Enjolras pulls out his card.

With everything bagged up and paid for, they exit the shop, chatting amiably about Grantaire’s plans for the vegetable patch, and tossing their purchases into the boot. Until Enjolras spots a young man, all long limbs and cat-like stretches, lazing on a folding chair next to a collection of canvases depicting local landscapes, all stacked against the low stone wall down the narrow street. He frowns, then tuts. Grantaire, taken aback by this sudden change in demeanour, follows his gaze before turning back, none the wiser as to the cause.  
“What’s up?”  
“Just…” Enjolras waves a hand in the man’s general direction before dropping his arm with a huff, jerking open the car door and getting in, Grantaire hurrying around to the other side of the car to follow him. “Just that touristy stuff.” He elaborates, putting the car in gear and pulling out as Grantaire pulls his seatbelt on, “It’s frustrating.” Grantaire screws up his face in confusion, turning to look at the artist before he disappeared around the corner.  
“What’s touristy about it?”  
“Oh come on. The little pictures of the town?” Grantaire shakes his head, still smiling quizzically at Enjolras, waiting for the punchline. “Only tourists would buy that stuff, and, I don’t know, it’s gentrifying the area.”  
“I don’t see how one guy selling his art on a street corner is gentrification. It’s hardly the same as the bougie, Parisian galleries.” Grantaire argues, smile dropping now. “And why wouldn’t the locals buy art?”  
“I just mean that it’s giving the space to wealthy visitors and consumerism, instead of local people and public good. People in small towns want useful, fairly-priced stores and uncrowded streets.”  
“What would you know about what people from small towns want?” Grantaire asks, annoyance peaking.  
“I-“  
“No seriously.” He continues. “What a sweeping, patronising, classist generalisation.”  
“It’s not classist!” Enjolras protests, aghast.  
“You don’t get to decide what’s classist and what’s not, Enjolras.” Grantaire crosses his arms. Enjolras snaps his mouth shut and turns sharply back to watch the road. An agonising silence settles over the cramped space.  
“I just… Sorry. You’re right.” Enjolras stumbles, “I was trying to say that obviously art isn’t as important as food and other necessities-“  
“Agree to disagree.” Grantaire mumbles darkly.  
“What? You can’t be serious.” Enjolras exclaims.  
“Bread and Roses?”  
“No, I know.” Enjolras interrupts, “I’m not saying art isn’t important, and I’m not saying people from small towns or with lower incomes can’t enjoy art-“  
“Actually, that’s exactly what you were saying.”  
“It’s not what I’m trying to say.” Enjolras continues, shaking his head vehemently.  
“You’re trying to say,” Grantaire mimics, “that keeping poor people alive short-term is more important than giving them access to the kind of cultural education and resources that would allow them to later influence the political and social spheres that determine their well-being on a long-term, structural level, even though it’s perfectly possible to provide both.” Enjolras just gapes at him in response, mortified. Grantaire wasn’t sure why he felt so riled up, why he couldn’t just let things like this slide. And now Enjolras has that look on his face, like he wants to get as far away from Grantaire as he possibly can. ‘How does this keep happening?’ Grantaire wonders, as he stares pointedly out the window. They drive all the way back in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! a few things;  
> firstly, sorry this chapter is late and short and a bit angsty. I had my final meeting with my dissertation advisor this week so I was a bit short on time!  
> secondly, i just finished rereading the song of achilles for the millionth time so feel free to let me know if i use the wrong names or assume it is an artistic choice, whatever works; and don't ask what the implications of the characters discussing the film adaptation of a victor hugo novel in a les mis modern au is because i don't know.  
> finally, thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or commented! i'm not used to writing this kind of thing so I know its not the best, but any entertainment i can help supply in times like this is very gratifying! hope you're all safe and doing well, and i hope you enjoyed the update! x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Moonlight22oa's sanity. Hope y'all enjoy.

Grantaire spends the rest of the next two weeks doing his best to avoid stepping on Enjolras’ toes. Enjolras appears to be making the same effort, and, day by day, the small group make the unwieldy house more liveable. July looms and then envelopes them, like a sudden downpour, and Grantaire clears the tangle of weeds covering the vegetable patch and plants out his garden, the back of his neck browning as he bent over the back-aching task. After that, he tried to lend Feuilly a hand with the bathroom, quickly demoting himself to assistant after almost flooding the place. He comes downstairs drenched in dirty water and fuming, to raucous laughter from the others, well, most of them.

Meanwhile, Combeferre helps Bahorel patch up the hole in the roof, and Enj and Courf, not skilled enough to volunteer for any other job, bravely deal with the rat problem, and any small-fix issues as they find them. Grantaire knows that the pair are in the entryway sanding down the front door so it won’t stick anymore when he heads towards it to fetch one of the parts he and Feuilly need for the pipes, the sound of them working echoing around the ground floor. Halfway down the corridor from the kitchen though, Enjolras’ furtive tone makes Grantaire pause, concealed in the narrow passageway.  
“-s like I don’t even know him that well.” Comes the hoarse whisper. “Like, then he started talking about his sister. I didn’t know he had a sister either!”  
“You didn’t?”  
“No! How terrible is that!”  
“It’s alright, Enjolras,” Grantaire told him, emerging into the entryway and interrupting whatever Courfeyrac had been about to say, feeling uneasy about eavesdropping any longer. “I don’t know anything about your siblings either.” Enjolras looks stricken and Courfeyrac does little to mask his panic as his eyes dart between the other two. When neither of them say anything, Grantaire turns away and starts grabbing what he needs from the pile of supplies, until, finally, Enjolras croaks out,  
“I don’t have any.” Grantaire can’t help but laugh.  
“That figures. I should have guessed you were an only child.”  
“Huh?”  
“Right?!” Courf interjects, shoulders relaxing a little at Grantaire’s casual tone, “I’ve said this. It’s an energy you have.” Grantaire turns back to face them, supplies in hand, in time to catch Enjolras glaring at Courfeyrac.  
“Well, I better get this to Feu.” He retreats hastily back to the hallway, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as soon as he’s out of sight. ‘Enjolras was talking about me. Enjolras was talking about me.’ His brain ran on repeat as he headed back upstairs.

Other than these small tensions, though, the time passes pleasantly, a mellow and amiable atmosphere, incubated under the warmth of the summer sun. Even Combeferre admits, as they lounge on the terrace one night after dinner, that it feels good to make and fix things, to use one’s hands to work. And Grantaire finds a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a while, painting outside most evenings until he loses the light, the only sounds his friends and the cicadas chattering, and the clink of his brush against the glass when he cleans it.  
“What are you painting?” Enjolras asks him on one such evening. He’s wandered over to Grantaire’s little setup from where he’d been working on something with Combeferre, and he’s now peering over Grantaire’s shoulder with a polite sort of interest. Grantaire bites back a petty, defensive remark along the lines of ‘what do you care?’  
“It’s my version of the death of Hyacinth.” He admits instead.  
“Oh. I don’t know that one.” Grantaire doesn’t acknowledge the statement, carefully keeping his eyes on the canvas. “How does he die?” Enjolras presses after a brief silence. Grantaire flushes slightly.  
“Hyacinth was-, well he tried to catch his lover’s discus to impress him, but it hit him in the head, killing him.”  
“That’s so tragic.” He says, furrowing his brows.  
“I agree.” Grantaire chews his lip, studying the figures he’d drawn, self-conscious under Enjolras’ inspection.  
“Why did you paint them so small?” Enjolras pries. Grantaire had ended up painting the scene taking place off to the side of the canvas, a little further away, instead of the foreground as planned. ‘Because it doesn’t matter.’ He thought to himself. “Not in the grand scheme of things. It’s everything to them, but it doesn’t matter.’  
“Didn’t want to cover up the background. I liked how it turned out.”  
“Oh. Yeah, you should. I mean, I- it is nice… The, colours…” Enjolras trails off under Grantaire’s surprised and searching expression. “It really looks like this place.” He gestures loosely across the sprawling landscape. Grantaire can’t tell if Enjolras is being sincere or not.  
“Are you…” Grantaire spoke slowly, considering. “Do you mean that?”  
“Yes. Of course.” Enjolras says, forcefully. ‘Of course. Always sincere.’ Grantaire admonished himself, allowing a small smile to creep across his face. Enjolras beams in response and Grantaire feels the last anxious and weary guard to his heart surrender. ‘Helpless.’ He shakes his head, almost annoyed at himself for always giving in so easily, but how could he ever begrudge Enjolras these victories over him. Besides, it’s hard to hold onto a grudge in a place like this.

Still, it’s with a sense of relief that Grantaire scoops Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, fresh back from their romantic getaway to Florence, into a hug as they finish lugging their bags up the path to the front door.  
“You’re here.” Grantaire sighs, the sound muffled between Chetta’s hair and Bousset’s shoulder.  
“We’re here!” Bousset confirms, patting Grantaire on the back. Grantaire releases them and the rest of the welcome party swoop in to say their hellos before all funnelling into the house. Almost as soon as he steps gingerly over the threshold, however, Joly lets out a horrified squeal and sets off spraying various surfaces with a spray bottle that he produced, seemingly from nowhere, clamping his sleeve tightly over his mouth.  
“Did he come in here armed with disinfectant?” Grantaire laughs.  
“There’s chemicals I can’t even pronounce in the van.” Chetta half-whispers back, conspiratorially. With a pang Grantaire realises how much he’s missed them, and how relieved he was there was finally someone he could talk to about everything that had happened with Enjolras. There wasn’t the opportunity for a debrief though. Between unpacking, and reshuffling the sleeping situation (Grantaire moving in with Feuilly and Bahorel, and Courfeyrac with Enjolras and Combeferre so the trio could have their room) and one infamous, Joly-grade cleaning spree, there was barely time to think. But at the end of the day, with all the work the others had done so far to boot, the house was looking almost quite grand, and bustling with a sense of life and fullness it hadn’t had before. The gang decided to celebrate, both the state of the house and the new arrivals, with a spontaneous party on the terrace. Grantaire couldn’t help his soft smile watching Enjolras, flushed with happiness, talking animatedly with Combeferre and Joly. Nor could he help the deep blush that rose in his cheeks when Chetta nudged his shoulder with her own.  
“Caught you.” She said, handing him a beer.  
“You have no idea.” He replied, taking a sip.  
“Why, what’s happened?” She queries, excitedly.  
“I literally haven’t got a clue.” Grantaire tells her honestly, catching Enjolras’ eye as he spoke and, for once, both smiling at the other before looking away.  
“Well whatever’s happened, you two seem… closer?” She questions.  
“Moving in together will do that.” Grantaire throws her a look.  
“Something had be done, R.” She exclaims, throwing up her hands in surrender. “Although I’ll admit this was maybe a little drastic.”  
“Maybe.” He smirks. Perhaps he should still be annoyed. But somehow he’s not. There’s a small sense of alarm tugging at his gut, sending warnings about how quickly and completely this place has come to feel like home, but for once he ignores it. "It's ok." He says aloud. And he believes it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didn't upload last week!! i had a deadline to meet! but here it is! and it's sickeningly cheesy to make up for the wait! enjoy <3

Early the next morning Bahorel and Feuilly have to leave; Feuilly back to his job and Bahorel to some volunteering thing Grantaire tries to remember the name of but can’t.  
“You know we might actually die with out you guys.” Grantaire jokes, after they’d all said their goodbyes.  
“Yeah, you’re screwed.” Bahorel waves as he climbs into the driver’s seat.  
“You’ll be fine , just remember to ventilate properly when you’re using anything chemical…” Feuilly calls from the passenger-side window, “and just in general.” He adds after a moment’s thought. Combeferre goes to speak but Feuilly cuts him off. “Oh and don’t put weight on anything you’re not a hundred percent sure is secure!” Bahorel chuckles, putting the van in gear and pulling off with a final wave.  
“Okay-“ Enjolras starts.  
“And don’t use the taps in the bathroom for at least 48 hours! The cleaner needs time to work! And then…” The truck was disappearing down the road now, Feuilly’s voice fading into the distance.  
“Can’t hear you!” Grantaire bellowed after them.  
“The pipes-“ Feuilly called but they were out of earshot.  
“Well that’s not good.” Said Combeferre.  
“We’re gonna die.” Courfeyrac agreed.  
“Maybe we should just get some bottled water when we go into town later?” Joly suggested, weakly.  
“Good idea.” Enjolras nods.

The day’s plan involved trying to find some cheap furniture in town to replace that which Enjolras’ great uncle had taken with him when he’d moved into assisted housing, as well as stocking up on groceries and such like. That meant, as they’d have to leave room for their purchases in the back, there wasn’t enough room in Chetta’s minivan for everyone to come. After a lengthy discussion, they decided that Combeferre and Courfeyrac would stay behind, Grantaire squinting suspiciously at Courfeyrac, who was, in his opinion, uncharacteristically keen to miss out on an activity involving interior design, and wouldn’t meet his eye. Regardless, the rest all climbed into the van and set off; Grantaire and Chetta in the front bickering good-naturedly over the radio station, flicking the dial back and forth and batting each others hands away.  
“What do we need to get, Enj?” Joly asked, suddenly. “I’ll make a list.” He pulled out his phone and looked at Enjolras expectantly. He thought for a moment.  
“Well, we need a bed frame and mattress for the fourth bedroom, although I can’t imagine we’ll find either at a village market. Unless you think we will, Grantaire?” He added hurriedly, tensing up. Grantaire started slightly.  
“Err. I don’t know. I haven’t gone bed shopping at a market before.” He glanced over at Chetta who raised her eyebrows ever so slightly at him. He gave a tiny shrug in reply.  
“What else?” Joly prompted, tapping the beginnings of the list into his notes. Enjolras rattled off a few more things they needed; chairs for the terrace, a mirror for the bathroom, etc, etc… Grantaire half listened as he watched the increasingly familiar road to town roll by, a lightness to his shoulders.

They pulled into the large car park, reversing into a space and getting out of the van with a percussion of slamming doors. The market, a maze of booths with cheerful awnings, is set up across the lot from them and already getting crowded.  
“We better get going.” Chetta observed, pushing sunglasses up her nose.  
“Shall we split up? Cover more ground?” Bossuet suggested. Enjolras nodded.  
“I think so.” They trekked over the tarmac, slightly tacky in the heat, to the bustling bazaar and dispersed, Grantaire picking a path that ran parallel to Enjolras’. He tried to focus on the precarious stacks of furniture, running through their shopping list in his head, but his eyes fixed instinctively on the glimpses of pearly skin and flaxen hair that flashed past the gaps between the stalls like a magpie. Suddenly, as he rounded a large, beaten-up wardrobe, he found eyes, luminous blue like the sky just as the sun slips below the horizon, meeting his own. A collection of trestle tables obscures them, then they return, accompanied by a pleased smile. Another stall blocks his view and Grantaire speeds up slightly, his face breaking into a huge grin when he sees Enjolras hurrying past tables and rugs of furniture too. The pair start giggling like mischievous kids as they speed up, racing now, along the constructed aisles of the marketplace, brushing past disgruntled shoppers, and Grantaire feels giddy with it all. Until, suddenly, he finds himself confronted by his own, beaming face and he stops in his tracks. A moment passes where all he can do is try and catch his breath and listen to his heat beating in his ears. The ecstatic, suntanned man looking back at him is almost unrecognisable.  
“Hey Enj!” Enjolras’ head appears between two stalls, flushed and panting.  
“Yeah?”  
“I found mirrors.” Grantaire grins.

A couple of hours later, they’ve regrouped at the van and started cramming their purchases inside. As well as a mirror for the bathroom, they’d scouted out a number of mismatched garden chairs, a collection of cushions and pillows, an enormous pack of bottled water, and even a double mattress.  
“More important than the frame bit anyway.” Bossuet decided, cheerfully. With everything just about packed in, Joly sitting on Bossuet’s lap to make more space, they set off back to the house. When they arrived, they trudged silently up the path, deciding to take a break and eat something before beginning the arduous process of unloading the van.  
“We’re back!” Enjolras called into the silent house as they trooped through the front door. There was no response. He frowned.  
“Maybe they’re outside.” Grantaire shrugged.  
“Yeah, maybe.” Enjolras hovered close at Grantaire’s side and the taller man couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first day at the house.  
“Maybe the ghosts got them.” He muttered in a low voice. Enjolras shivered, then smacked him on the arm, giving him a dark look.  
“Shut up.” But he was smiling that radiant smile and Grantaire felt his heart teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. His thoughts were interrupted when a ruffled and alarmed Courfeyrac rushed into the hallway.  
“Hey guys, what’s up? Get all the er…” He looked back over his shoulder, distractedly, “all the stuff you needed to… get?” He stood there panting for a moment, clearly trying his best to look nonchalant.  
“”Yes…” Enjolras said slowly, “Where’s Ferre?” Courfeyrac’s head snapped round to look at him but before he could speak Ferre hurried into the room, also looking disheveled, although a bit more put together than Courfeyrac. Grantaire couldn’t recall ever seeing Ferre looking completely caught off guard. Enjolras looked between the two of them eyes narrowed, before finally they widened, almost comically, into the picture of surprise.  
“Wait! You! They!” Enjolras addressed this last point to Grantaire, who grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room down the corridor.  
“I’m starving, are you?” He said loudly. Enjolras clamped his mouth shut, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta mumbled their agreement and shuffled after them. Grantaire arrived in the kitchen with Enjolras in tow, before releasing his arm and turning to look at him, staring at the wild look in his eyes. A beat of silence. Then they both burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, Courfeyrac marching into the kitchen with a beet-red face only encouraging them. Only Combeferre’s bashful pleas eventually calmed them down.

An afternoon of shifting furniture later and the small troupe are gratefully tucking into a dinner of stew and fresh bread on the terrace. Grantaire is startled to see Enjolras sitting slightly apart from Courfeyrac and Combeferre who seem to only have eyes for each other.  
“You ok over here?” He asks gently, plopping down next to him on the edge of the terrace. Enjolras glances over at him, offering a small smile.  
“Yeah. Just giving them some space, you know.” Grantaire nods sympathetically. He often feels like a fourth wheel hanging out with the trio, although they’d be devastated if they knew that’s how he felt.  
“Looks like they’re finally sorting their shit out.” He says instead, and Enjolras nods. “Been a long time coming, hey?”  
“You have no idea.” Enjolras rolls his eyes fondly. There’s a brief lull in the conversation while Grantaire steals himself.  
“Listen, I’m sorry about … well everything, how I acted the other day-“  
“Don’t be.” Enjolras interrupts, “I’m sorry. I acted like an entitled prick.” Grantaire snorts in surprise. “I’ve just been…” Enjolras takes a breath, “I’ve just been stressed about this place and I don’t know what I’m going to do with it. So I’ve been a bit… highly strung.” Grantaire opens his mouth to speak but Enjolras beats him to it. “Yes, even more than usual, I know.” Grantaire frowns.  
“That’s not what I was going to say.” But before he can elaborate, Courfeyrac spots them and bounces over, dragging Ferre behind him.  
“What are you guys talking about?”  
“You.”  
“Nothing.” They say at the same time. Courfeyrac narrows his eyes.  
“What about me?” He asks.  
“Just how much you snore.” Grantaire teases. Enjolras sniggers next to him. Courfeyrac gasps in mock indignation, but it only lasts a moment, before a sly smile appears instead.  
“Well in that case I can bunk with Ferre instead, you don’t mind do you?” Combeferre looks a little flustered but confirms that he doesn’t.  
“After being your roommate for all of first year, I think I’m probably half deaf. So, no.”  
“Great!” Courf cheers, and Grantaire can see what’s about to happen but says nothing. There’s about as much point trying to stop one of Courf’s plans as there is trying to stop an earthquake.  
“That means you two can share!” There it is. A glaring silence follows in which Grantaire can’t quite bring himself to look Enjolras in the eye, and even Ferre can’t, or won’t, get them out of this one.  
“Yep.” Grantaire eventually concedes with a sigh. “Fine.”

When they all eventually head upstairs, Grantaire lingers in the bathroom, brushing his teeth with bottled water as he works up the courage to go into the bedroom he’ll be sharing with Enjolras.  
‘Why is this such a big deal?’ He asks himself, spitting into the sink. ‘We’ve shared before.’ He’s trying to convince himself. He knows it’s different now.  
Finally, he shuffles across the corridor into the bedroom. Enjolras is sat on the far side of the bed looking at his phone, already in his pyjama bottoms and Green Day t-shirt. Grantaire lets his eyes brush over slender shoulders before sternly averting his gaze. He fidgets for a moment, not sure what to do next, until Enjolras turns and looks at him.  
“Hey.” He says, drowsily. Grantaire’s heart melts.  
“How do you get so sleepy when you drink all that coffee?” Enjolras laughs lightly, a laugh Grantaire knows means he only found something a little funny. When he really laughs it’s all snorts and breathy giggles.  
“Imagine how I’d be without the coffee.” He quips.  
“Unconscious, probably.” Grantaire supplies. Another silence falls over the pair, but it’s a comfortable one. Grantaire pulls down the covers and clambers into bed, Enjolras doing the same. They lie on their backs on opposite sides of the bed. Grantaire is itching to shuffle closer, but he studies the ceiling instead, running his eyes along the hairline cracks in the paintwork.  
“Thank you, Grantaire.” Enjolras mumbles after a while. Grantaire blinks in surprise and turns to look at him, but his eyes are already closed, mouth slightly parted.  
“For what?” He asks.  
“For. Being here?” It sounds like a question. “For helping. For…” Enjolras trails off, and soon after his breathing evens into deep, slow sighs. Grantaire lets his eyes rest on Enjolras’ sleeping face. Counting eyelashes and the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose that he hadn’t noticed before.  
“Anything for you, angel.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what??? uploading on a monday?? like she said she would??? don't thank me yet lol.
> 
> also side note, im probably just caught up in the moment but after this what if i wrote a eurovision au???

The next morning Grantaire woke up next to Enjolras. And the next, and the next, and the next. Sometimes the pair were curled up on their respective sides of the wide mattress, but, more often, Enjolras’ long limbs were tangled in the duvet and sprawled across most of the bed, invading Grantaire’s space; not that he minded. On July 20th (Grantaire remembers because he put an exclamation mark in his phone calendar), he woke up with Enjolras’ face nuzzled into his side and his arm resting over his stomach. Although it was always a struggle, that day it was almost impossible to pull himself out of bed and go downstairs.

After a couple of weeks, all of the others had to leave, various work and family commitments pulling them away. So, at an hour that had Enjolras muttering under his breath between yawns, he and Grantaire shuffled on to the front patio to wave off their friends as they piled into the van and bid their farewells.  
“We’ll be back before you know it!” Ferre assured them as he folded his tall frame into the back seat.  
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Courf called from beside him.  
“What wouldn’t you do?” Grantaire jibed, instantly regretting it when Courf simply threw the pair a pantomime wink before disappearing into the car.  
“Keep in touch!” Chetta shouted as they drove off. The group were still chorusing goodbyes as the van rounded the corner at the end of the drive and before they knew it, Grantaire and Enjolras were alone, the cicadas and songbirds chirping deafeningly loudly in the silence. Grantaire gave an exaggerated sigh and turned to Enjolras.  
“Peace at last, eh?” He said with a grin. It was something his dad always used to say when their extended family finally cleared off after Christmas, and the current moment had something of that quality in it. Enjolras hummed in reply.

The rest of the day passed quietly. They had decided to take a bit of time off from fixing up the house as there was only so much they could do without the others, and both of them had work to be getting on with. Not that they did any that day. After weeks of hard work, the opportunity to rest had both of them slumped in folding chairs on the terrace for the whole afternoon; doing very little other than occasionally walking the few steps into the kitchen to retrieve snacks and flicking pistachio shells at each other. They invented a game with a points system and everything that they played until Grantaire was doubled over from laughing and it was too dark to even see each other properly. It struck Grantaire, only as they were finishing up a light supper of fish on buttered bread, that, with the others gone, there was no need for them to share a bed anymore. He kept the thought to himself though, becoming uncharacteristically quiet.  
“You ok?”  
“Yeah, just tired.”  
“It is getting pretty late.”  
Neither of them spoke as they head up stairs together and silently prepared for bed. Finally crawling under the covers in the same room they’d been sharing for weeks and had come to feel like ‘theirs’. Grantaire only smiled as Enjolras nestled into the duvet and closed his eyes. And when Grantaire woke up, Enjolras’ head was tucked under his stubbled chin, soft, even breaths tickling his neck.

After that the time passed like a dream, in a haze of small, sunny moments, soft around the edges. Grantaire discovered that tentative little shoots had sprouted in his garden, and began chatting away quietly as he watered them.  
“Enjolras is inside sending angry emails to the government.” He told the cheerful, yellow-green leaves. “He’s looking out for you guys, fighting against nasty pesticides. None of that stuff for you.” He reassures them, dipping his hands in soapy water and washing off the spider mites he’d spotted on the tomato leaves.

In the long afternoons, Grantaire would paint out on the terrace until around six, then he’d head inside and prepare dinner. Enjolras had tried to help once or twice, but anything more complicated than heating up soup usually led to disaster. Instead he was content to watch Grantaire cook from the makeshift office he’d set up at the kitchen table, the pair bantering back and forth about nothing in particular. After they’d eaten they’d stay out and talk until they were shivering from the cold and Enjolras could see shapes moving through the bushes at the edge of the garden. Then they’d bunker down in bed and talk some more.

One such evening, they were lounging on the soft grass below the terrace, having absent-mindedly finished a bottle of gin between them as they talked about anything that came to mind. Grantaire was staring across the hills at the horizon as the sun sank dramatically into a dark, wine red sunset. Enjolras had shuffled close enough that Grantaire could feel how hot he was running from the alcohol as heat radiated off his skin, and, when Enjolras turned to look at him, Grantaire felt his breath searing against his cheek like the slightest summer breeze. Grantaire tilted his head to the side to meet his gaze and was confronted with the sinful sight of a flushed Enjolras, lips parted and slick from the drink, and hair rather tousled. Grantaire’s breath caught slightly as Enjolras’ eyes flickered down to his lips for a second. But he knows Enjolras can’t handle half a bottle of gin nearly as well as he can so, although it’s almost physically impossible, he leans back a bit and says:  
“Why don’t you like being on your own?” Enjolras looks at him for a moment.  
“I was alone a lot as a child. No siblings and my parents worked all the time so…” He seems to struggle momentarily. A rare sight that only confirms to Grantaire how drunk he is. “And I’d freak myself out.” He continues, “We lived in this big creaky old house and I would convince myself I’d seen something moving out of the corner of my eye or heard footsteps or whatever. But I mean, you know, it’s fine.” His voice shifts to that rushed, embarrassed tone Grantaire has come to recognise. “I’m not gonna complain about growing up in a big house with rich parents.”  
“You’re not complaining about growing up in a big house with rich parents.” Grantaire replies, in a low murmur. “You’re telling me why you don’t like being alone.”  
“Yeah, but-“  
“No seriously Enj.” He interrupts with a little more force. “You don’t have to do that.” Enjolras gives him a blank look. “That thing where you brush stuff off with a bunch of disclaimers about your privilege. Not with me, alright.” Enjolras stares at him for a few more, long seconds before, eventually, a small smile graces his lips.  
“Ok.” He almost whispers. A moment’s silence passes between the two men as they just look at each other. “Sometimes I think- no, sorry.” Enjolras looks down at his hands.  
“Tell me.” Grantaire insists, reaching over to tug encouragingly on Enjolras’ sleeve with his thumb and forefinger.  
“Sometimes I think it fucked me up. And I don’t know how to talk to people.” He concedes in a small voice.  
“You’re the most eloquent person I know.” Grantaire tells him with all the sincerity he can muster.  
“Thank you but, no, I mean like. Like-“  
“Intimately.”  
“Yeah.” Enjolras breathes. “Like. I never know how to judge the situation. I’m too… Distant? Aloof? Or I’m waaay too familiar. I overshare. Like I’m doing right now.”   
“Not too familiar.” Grantaire shakes his head. “I want to know you.”  
“I want to know you!” Enjolras exclaims, shuffling closer again and closing the gap Grantaire had put between them before. “Tell me something about you.” Enjolras requests, placing the pad of his ring finger very deliberately on top of Grantaire’s pinky finger, looking down at their hands as he did so.  
“Er…” He’s trying to think but he’s busy watching the infinitesimal movement. “I-“ He looks up into Enjolras’ eyes. Enjolras leans almost imperceptibly closer. The cicadas. The sunset. The gin. Enjolras is drunk. Enjolras is drunk! Grantaire leans back sharply, just as Enjolras’ lips are about to brush his. The smaller man recoils like he’s hit him. Grantaire doesn’t even have time to say anything. He’s still scrambling to collect his thoughts as Enjolras stumbles to his feet. He’s woozy and struggles to get his footing. It would be endearing but Grantaire is staring in horror at the look on his face, a mix of hurt and anger and something else. His lip wobbles and he turns and walks away. “Enjolras wait.” Grantaire jumps to his feet to pursue him.  
“Leave me alone.” Enjolras hisses with a venom Grantaire can’t bear, and stalks away. Grantaire shakes his head.  
“No. No, no. Enjolras.” He follows him, tripping in his haste. “Enj!”  
“It was just a stupid mistake Grantaire! Leave it!” He snaps, spinning round to face him with a withering glare. Grantaire stops short. He feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.  
“Just a?”  
“Mistake. Obviously.” Enjolras’ face is twisting unpleasantly and his fists are curling and uncurling at his sides.  
“Obviously.” Grantaire echos. He can’t even process what’s just happened. He can’t get his brain or his mouth, both usually too quick for him to control, to even work. He feels like he’s still sat on the grass, sipping gin and shivering under Enjolras’ hot breath, except for the spiralling, sinking feeling in his gut. Enjolras looking at him like that, eyes icy, it’s like all the heat is draining out of the air and suddenly he’s standing in the freezing cold outside the Musain in that November of first year. Enjolras and him fighting, for real, for the first time, their needling, riled-up debate spilling over into a stony argument. ‘Drunk.’ ‘Cynic.’ ‘Incapable of belief.’ He’d heard it all before. It hadn’t hurt then, but it hurt now. With these old feelings, that surety with which he felt his inadequacy, his unsuitability to even stand too near to this avenging arch-angel of a man, his old defences rose. “Yeah, whatever you say Enjolras.” He bit. Enjolras screwed up his face, ‘in disgust’, Grantaire thought, and, without a word, stormed inside and disappeared up the stairs. In the terrible quiet that followed, all Grantaire could hear was his own ragged breathing. He grit his teeth together to keep from screaming and shut his eyes. That night, he slept outside on the folding chair. 'The wolves can do their worst.’ He thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY!!! I promise i'll make it up to you guys!!!!  
> spoiler alert: everything's gonna be ok!!!


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire woke up cold and confused, searching around for the reason he was sleeping outside, until his heart seized on it and tightened in pain. Enjolras. The almost kiss. Grantaire rubbed his hands over his tired face and groaned. ‘Oh god, oh god.’ Maybe he should just leave. He couldn’t face this. It would be better all round if he just left. Except where could he go? And how would he get there? With no car, and no flat to go back to, he realised for the first time all summer the position he had put himself in. ‘Idiot.’ He berated himself, ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ His phone pinging pulled him out of his thoughts, he pulled it out of his pocket and squinted down at the bright screen. A text from Eponine:  
‘Hey we’re setting off now, there better be coffee ready when we get there’  
Grantaire had completely forgotten, Eponine, her little brother, and Jehan were driving down today. He sighed in relief. Any situation that meant he wouldn’t have to be alone with Enjolras after last night was very welcome, but Eponine’s unique brand of tough love and Jehan’s angelic presence were exactly what he needed right now, not to mention, no one could cheer up Grantaire quite like Gav could. That kid is a live wire. He shot back a quick confirmation on the coffee, and set to work making good on the promise, brewing it extra strong for his own sake as much as Eponine’s. While waiting for the water to boil, he realised he could always get Jehan to drive him back to Paris. Somehow he felt hollowed out rather than reassured by the thought.

Sitting out on the terrace to drink his fresh coffee, Grantaire felt much too jittery to paint and so resigned himself to a morning of doing very little other than wishing Eponine and Jehan would get here sooner, and hoping that Enjolras would sleep in until they arrived. He needn’t have worried about having to face Enjolras alone as Jehan, Eponine and Gavroche were already half-way through their tea, coffee, and lemonade respectively before Enjolras stumbled into the kitchen looking positively wretched.  
“Hello Enjolras.” Jehan greeted him, surprise saturating their voice. Grantaire had managed to pull Eponine aside and briefly explain the situation, not trusting her natural stores of tact or sensitivity, but Jehan he hadn’t warned and now he could only hope that they wouldn’t say the wrong thing.  
“Hi. Hi everyone.” Enjolras croaked, walking straight past the kitchen table where they were sat to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. Jehan looked at Grantaire questioningly but he staunchly avoided eye contact. Jehan frowned.  
“Is everything alright?”  
“Fine thank you, Jehan. I just slept badly.”  
“Good.” Grantaire heard Eponine mutter, he hoped too quietly for anyone else to hear. He shot her a warning look as Enjolras approached the table, accepting a hug from Jehan and taking a seat.  
“Hey.” Enjolras addressed Eponine and Gavroche. Eponine fixed him with an icy glare that Enjolras seemed to cringe under slightly.  
“Morning.” Grantaire kicked her lightly under the table. Eponine’s ride or die friendship was one of the many things he adored about her but right now he needed her to chill the fuck out and stop making everything even more awkward and hostile.  
“I can’t wait to start painting!” Jehan exclaimed, taking it upon themself to bulldoze over the discomfort, even without any context. ‘Thank christ for Jehan.’ Grantaire thought to himself. Enjolras nodded enthusiastically.  
“We should get started as soon as you guys are all ready.”  
“Yeah I won’t be doing that.” Eponine frowned. “I work full time and I didn’t come all the way down here to fix up your manor house for you.”  
“Eponine…” Grantaire implored her, flushing with embarrassment.  
“No, that’s totally fair, fine, of course. You should just relax!” Enjolras rushed out. “You guys can just catch up or-“  
“I’ll help paint, Enjolras. It’s fine.” Grantaire didn’t take his eyes off the rough wood of the table.   
“Do I have to help?” Gavroche asked, glancing up from his phone.  
“Yes.” Grantaire insisted.  
“No.” Enjolras and Eponine protested simultaneously.  
“Oh look, you agreed on something.” Grantaire pointed out sardonically, glaring sternly at Eponine. An agonising pause.  
“I’m gonna go and get changed.” Enjolras muttered, standing up and taking a last swig of his coffee.  
“Why don’t you show me around on the way.” Jehan suggested, also standing and following Enjolras out of the kitchen.  
“I’ll start setting up.” Grantaire called after them.  
“Go explore, Gav.” Eponine instructed her little brother.  
“I’m good thanks.”  
“Then go be good somewhere else.”  
“Ugh, fine.” He huffed.  
“How old is he now?” Grantaire asked as Gav shuffled outside.  
“He’s thirteen in about three weeks.”  
“Huh.”  
“Don’t try and distract me, Grantaire.” Eponine scolded him.  
“He used to be cute, you know.”  
“Yeah and now he’s a little pre-teen asshole. He gets it from me. Why the hell are you still playing nice with blondie when he freaked out on you?”  
“You’re a little pre-teen asshole?”  
“R. I swear to god.”  
“He didn’t freak out on me, Ep.” Grantaire surrendered.  
“Sounds like he did. Sounds like he got drunk, made a pass, and now he’s trying to make you feel bad about turning him down.”  
“That’s not what happened. He…” Grantaire sighed. “He’s not trying to make me feel bad. He made a mistake and it’s my own fault I’m too invested and I got my hopes up and-“  
“R.” Eponine had closed her eyes and was pinching the crease of her brow. “I literally won’t sit here and listen to this kind of bullshit from you. There’s no way you actually believe that.” He just looked at her helplessly. “Christ you’re hopeless.” That stung a little.  
“I’m gonna set up.” He stood, sullenly.  
“Fine. But please…”  
“Yeah. Ok.” He waved a hand dismissively. He didn’t need a lecture right now.

He started laying out dust sheets over the floorboards and furniture in the first living room and soon Enjolras and Jehan joined him, taping down the edges and levering open the cans of sunny, cream-coloured paint they had bought.  
“Ok so how do we do this?” Enjolras asked, reaching back to tie up his hair.  
“Um. Ok, so…” Grantaire focused momentarily on pouring some paint into a tray. “When you dip the roller brush into the paint, you don’t want to get too much on there at once. And you’ll want to roll it in the tray a little to get it all even and stuff.” He demonstrated as he explained, methodically dipping and rolling the brush. “Then when you start on the wall, you want to do long, light rolls. The mistake most people make is slapping too much on at once. If the paint’s really thick, that’s when you get drips and bubbles and stuff.”  
“Ok.” Jehan smiled, “That seems simple enough.” He grabbed his own roller, and Enjolras followed suit with a little less certainty.  
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong.” Enjolras requested.  
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Grantaire soothed, automatically. And with that, they got to work. Brightening the previously dreary room with the work as the afternoon drifted past.

At around 4 pm, just as they were finishing up, Gavroche crashed into the room waving his arms in the air.  
“What?” Grantaire asked him. “Use words.”  
“You have a pool?!” He gasped out, half question, half statement.  
“Er. We do?” Enjolras replied.  
“Yeah, up the hill, that way!” He panted, gesturing wildly. The older three exchanged a brief glance then set down their brushes and followed Gavroche around the side of the house and up a steep slope until they came across a large, tiled swimming pool, brimming with stagnant water and rotting leaves. Eponine was already standing at the edge, poking the green surface with her toe.  
“This is pretty gross.” She stated when she spotted them.  
“Yeah.” Enjolras agreed. “I suppose I better add dealing with this to the to-do list.”  
“We’ll just need some leaf nets and chlorine. We can pick some up next time we go into town.” Grantaire said, thinking out loud. When he turned to face Enjolras, he was already staring back at him with an unreadable expression that made Grantaire flush self-consciously.  
“How exciting!” Jehan broke in. “It’ll be like we’re on a luxurious holiday!” Grantaire smiled at them.

The next day, Enjolras and Jehan felt confident enough to paint on their own, and Grantaire found a loophole in Eponine’s ‘no helping’ rule, managing to entice Gavroche into weeding the vegetable patch with him.  
“It’s not the house! It’s my thing.” He argued. “And if we find any bugs, Gav, you can keep them or squish them or whatever it is kids like to do to bugs these days.”  
“Cool!” Gavroche enthused, grabbing a trowel.  
“You sound like an old person.” Eponine tells him impassively, laying out a towel nearby for sunbathing.  
“You’re acting like an old person.” Grantaire teased. Gav laughed and stuck his tongue out when Eponine sat up to shoot them one of her patented unimpressed looks.  
“It’s my one weekend off.” She sighed, flopping back down. “Sue me!”

As difficult as she could be, Grantaire was more than a little apprehensive come Monday morning when Eponine and Gavroche had to leave.  
“I can’t believe I have to work tonight.” She grumbled, shoving the last of Gav’s things into a rucksack.  
“I can’t believe you’re making me come back with you.” Gavroche complained, scuffing his shoes against the floorboards. “I don’t even get to swim in the pool and I’ll only have to stay with Magnon while you’re working anyway.” Grantaire gave Eponine a quizzical look.  
“Neighbour.” She explained. “Who is nice enough to look after your annoying ass.”  
“Why can’t Grantaire look after me.” He whined.  
“Because you’re not his problem.” She pulled him to his feet and steered him towards the door.  
“I wouldn’t mind.” Grantaire offered, thinking Gav would provide a great buffer between him and Enjolras.  
“I don’t even trust you to look after yourself.” She told him. “But you are gonna walk us to the station.”  
“Oh, I can drive you, Eponine. It’s no problem.” Enjolras offered as he walked into the entry way with Jehan in tow, just as Eponine opened the front door.  
“No. It’s fine.” She stated. “Grantaire will walk us.” She didn’t leave much room to argue. So with an apologetic wave and hurried farewell, Grantaire followed her out and down the drive.  
“I didn’t know the train station was walking distance.” He commented as the house vanished around the corner.  
“It’s not. We’re getting the bus.” Eponine flicked a loose strand of hair out of her face, casually.  
“What? Why the hell are we getting the bus?”  
“Because I wouldn’t let blondie drive my coffin around, let alone my brother. And I need to talk to you.”  
“He’s not that bad at driving.” Grantaire grumbled.

Neither of them spoke much as they trudged to the bus stop, nor while riding to the train station, Gav perched between them, playing some phone game and swinging his legs from onto of the luggage rack. They arrived at the tiny local station with ten minutes to spare.  
“Here.” Eponine shoved some coins into her brother’’s hand. “Go buy some snacks for the journey.”  
“Ok.” He scurried off towards the newsagents and Eponine pulled Grantaire into a hug.  
“Bye R. I’ve missed you, you know.” Grantaire sighed.  
“I’ve missed you too. Maybe I should just come back with you.” He muttered, barely loud enough to hear. Eponine pulled back and looked him in the eye.  
“Well, you know my crappy sofa is always there for you. But…” She groaned. “As much as you know I hate to say it, I think you need to sort things out with him. For your own sake. And mine. You’d drive me nuts moping about him all the time.” He laughed.  
“And with me dead and you in prison, who’d look after Gav?”  
“Oh I’d definitely frame him for the murder- Hey kid, ready to go?”  
“Yeah.” Gav confirmed, skidding to a halt clutching an enormous packet of Doritos and a tube of wine gums.  
“Cool, lets go then.”  
“Bye R.” He waved, running off towards the barriers.  
“Bye Gav. Be good!” Grantaire called after him. “Oh. I think he flipped me off.”  
“Probably.” Eponine confirmed. “See you soon. Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, alright?”  
“Scouts honour.” He assured her, putting on his most angelic grin. Eponine gave him a final, despairing look, before following her brother through the gates and disappearing into the crowd.

When Grantaire finally got back to the house, he had to search around a bit before he finally found Enjolras and Jehan perched together on the table in the freshly painted dining room. Enjolras’ eyes were red rimmed and he avoided Grantaire’s gaze when he came in.  
“Hey, R. Let’s…” Jehan gestured for them to step outside. Grantaire followed, although he had to fight every instinct telling him to make sure Enjolras was ok.  
“Look Jehan…” Grantaire sighed, as they stepped out onto the terrace.  
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it anymore, ‘Aire. In fact I’m sure Eponine already gave you an earful.” Grantaire stayed silent. “Just… Please talk to each other? Communicate?”  
“I know, Jehan.” Grantaire ran his hands through his hair, suddenly feeling so tired and frustrated. “I know it probably looks so simple to all of you. Everyone certainly seems to have an opinion.” He took a deep breath. “But it’s not simple. I’m trying. I am. But…”  
“I know. It’s ok.” They soothed him, pulling him into a hug. “This stuff is hard. And you both care so much. That’s why you’re so upset.”  
“Is that what he said?” Grantaire asked in a small voice.  
“I can’t do the communicating for you, but, yes. Both of you want to work this out. You just need to keep at it. Meet each other half-way.”  
“Ok. Should I?-“  
“I think maybe you should both give each other a little space? Just for now. You’ve been together non-stop for a month. That was bound to get overwhelming.”  
“You’re probably right.” Grantaire conceded, reluctantly. He let Jehan give him one last squeeze then head back inside, leaving him to listen to the breeze rustling through the dry grass. Exhausted, but strangely calm, like he didn’t have the energy to feel anxious anymore, Grantaire thought maybe he felt a tiny bit hopeful? Like a small spark under the pile of damp wood that was years of doubt and self-loathing. He knew it was ok to relapse into old thought patterns sometimes. It was bound to happen; but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. He resolved to do better. To try again. To be nicer to himself, and to at least make things ok between him and Enjolras again.  
“it’s going to be fine.” He said aloud, and smiled. It would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez this is exhausting. they should just kiss am i right guys?  
> hey, its not enjoltaire fluff, but it is a beefy chapter full of eponine serving r's ass to him. so. y'know.


	9. Chapter 9

A few more days passed quietly as the three of them industriously worked to cover every inch of wall in fresh paint. At meal times Grantaire and Enjolras reached a wordless and tentative truce, for their own sake as much as Jehan’s; muttering thank yous as they passed each other plates and such. Grantaire focused on ignoring the ringing in his ears when their fingers brushed against each other, trying to take Jehan’s advice and retreat for a while. As they found themselves in the last week of July, the day when Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Bahorel were scheduled to arrive edged closer, so they rushed to finish painting then roll up all the dust sheets and pack up the cans and brushes in time. Before they knew it, they were welcoming their friends back to the house and revelling in their enthusiastic praise.  
“God, the place looks amazing!” Bahorel marvelled.  
“Yeah! It’s got like, rustic b&b vibes. You know?” Courf grinned.  
“Thank you.” Enjolras accepted, bashfully.  
“But anyway,” Courf flapped, “What’s this surprise you texted me about?”  
“Ah!” Enjolras’ face lit up in an excited smile at the reminder. “You’ll love this. We found a swimming pool!” Whatever reaction he was expecting, Courf’s fell uncomfortably short.  
“Oh.” His face folded into a frown briefly, although he quickly recovered himself, managing a polite smile. “That’s cool.”  
“Er. Yeah.” Enjolras seemed as baffled as Grantaire was by Courf’s uncharacteristically lacklustre response. “Grantaire says we just need to clean out the leaves and stuff and get some chlorine and-“  
“Enj, can I talk to you? Outside?” Courfeyrac interrupted, gesturing towards the terrace.  
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” Enjolras blustered, the two of them walking out through the glass doors and away from the house.  
“Odd.” Grantaire commented to the room at large.  
“Yeah.” Jehan agreed. Although Combeferre and Bahorel stayed quiet. Grantaire squinted at the pair.  
“Do you guys know what that was about?”  
“No.” Bahorel replied immediately, while Ferre just shook his head.  
“Okay…” Grantaire allowed, just as confused as before.  
“Why don’t you show us all the changes you’ve made while we’ve been gone, Grantaire.” Combeferre suggested.  
“Um. Ok.”

Grantaire trooped back through the house, the others in tow, pointing out the progress they had made since the others had left and feeling both self-conscious and disconcerted. He felt narcissistic for even thinking it, but he couldn’t help but suspect that whatever Courf wanted to talk to Enjolras about was something to do with him. When the group reached the top of the stairs, they dispersed to the various bedrooms they’d be staying in, and Grantaire followed Bahorel into his room.  
“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Grantaire beseeched him, as Bahorel dropped his rucksack onto the bed.  
“Huh?” Bahorel did a poor job of feigning ignorance, immediately tensing up and avoiding Grantaire’s eyes.  
“Come on. Please? If it’s about me, I have a right to know.” Bahorel considered this for a moment.  
“Ok… Ok, fine. Don’t say I told you this but Courfeyrac was convinced that Enjolras’ surprise was that you two were…”  
“Right.” Grantaire stopped him.  
“He talked about it all the way here. But that’s all I know!” He added hastily. “And they’re probably talking about something else anyway.”  
“Sure. Thanks Bah.” Grantaire left him alone to unpack, walking down the stairs and back through the house to the kitchen. Through the glass doors, Grantaire could see Enjolras and Courfeyrac standing a little way off and… arguing? It was such an arresting sight, and Grantaire realised he had never seen the pair genuinely angry with each other before. They annoyed each other a little, sure; teasing and eye-rolling, even disagreeing on occasion, but their altercations were always better described as debates or squabbles. This was undoubtably an argument. Courfeyrac was frowning, his mouth turned down and his face blotched red, and Enjolras’ usually animated hands were folded defensively across his chest, his sharp face blade-like in its intensity. Grantaire hovered in indecision. He desperately wanted to know what they were saying, but the thought of being caught eavesdropping was mortifying. Even so, Grantaire edged closer to the door. Courfeyrac was talking and Grantaire strained to hear what he was saying, only catching fragments.  
“…stop… be around…like a coward.” The last word was clear as day and Grantaire winced involuntarily. Enjolras’ reply was inaudible, however, over the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and Grantaire jumped back from the door and grabbed the half-full and cold coffee pot from the counter just as Combeferre walked into the kitchen.  
“Hey.” He greeted, trying to act nonchalant as he grabbed a mug from the drying rack and filled it.  
“Hey.” Ferre returned. They were silent for a moment, and Grantaire took a sip from his mug to relieve the awkwardness. “You know, Enjolras gets very invested when he cares about something.” Ferre began. Grantaire swallowed quickly, trying not to gag on a mouthful of cold coffee.  
“I know.” He spluttered.  
“So it wouldn’t be fair on him to… encourage him if you weren’t… if you’re not actually… also invested.”  
“I know.” Grantaire said again. He frowned. “Why do I feel like I’ve been called into the principal’s office?”  
“I’m not suggesting you’ve done anything wrong.” Combeferre quickly reassured him. “I’m just looking out for Enj. He-”  
“Doesn’t need you looking after him.” Grantaire finished. “And I don’t need to be told any of this. I already know.” He poured his coffee into the sink and, leaving the mug on the side, left the room without another word, passing right by Combeferre who didn’t move to stop him. He stalked through to the sitting room, feeling scolded and kind of annoyed. He wasn’t making a mess of things on purpose. And Enjolras wasn’t exactly making things easy for him.  
‘Maybe Enjolras’ friends don’t think you’re good enough for him.’ His brain helpfully supplied. Grantaire shook his head and flopped down onto the sofa with a huff. This whole thing was messing with his mental health and he needed a break. He closed his eyes and ended up drifting off for most of the afternoon, fatigue finally catching up with him.

That night Grantaire was on his own in the newly habitable fourth bedroom. The mattress they’d found at the market was lumpy and smelt strongly of something chemical, but even if it had been feather soft and perfumed with lavender, Grantaire still wouldn’t have been able to sleep. A combination of a busy head and a poorly timed nap meant he didn’t feel at all sleepy. He fidgeted, kicking off the sheets, sweating in the increasingly stuffy and oppressively hot air of the small room. He sighed heavily, giving up on chasing down sleep, and pushed himself up off the mattress. He crossed over to the window and peered out across the driveway, the faintest breeze brushing cooly against his cheek. Not for the first time, Grantaire’s fingers twitched for a cigarette, but he’d been doing too well to relapse now. Instead he headed for the hallway and went downstairs, deciding to sit outside and get some fresh air instead. He stepped into the back garden, closing the door carefully behind him. It was really quite late and he didn’t want to wake anyone, so he crept quietly towards the edge of the terrace before stopping dead on seeing a small figure already perched there. After his brain had briefly flipped through all the wild animals that might be about to maul him, Grantaire’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realised with a jolt that the figure was Enjolras; his heart beating faster than when he thought he might be face to face with a wolf. He stood, frozen, for a moment, before turning slowly and attempting to creep back inside.  
“Grantaire?” ‘Shit.’ “You don’t have to go. Come sit with me.” Grantaire turned back, shattered by how heartbreakingly beautiful Enjolras was in moonlight. The light cut his serious face like the ridges of a mountain, blinding snow on one side, rigid granite on the other. Grantaire walked over to him silently, lowering himself down next to him, and swinging his legs over the edge of the terrace. Neither of them spoke for several moments. Enjolras’ hair was in its signature bun, but a couple of flyaways were quivering in the soft breeze. “What are your plans for the future? Now that we’ve graduated, I mean.” Enjolras asked, suddenly. Grantaire was taken aback by this seemingly unprompted query.  
“You sound like Combeferre.” He told him. When Enjolras didn’t say anything else he continued, “I don’t know, really. I guess just… make art. Keep starving.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension settling between them as Enjolras stayed quiet. Suddenly, Enjolras was gripping Grantaire’s shoulder.  
“Don’t go anywhere. Please. Stay in my life. I’d… I don’t want you to leave… Will you promise?” Grantaire was gobsmacked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a response.  
“I promise.” He eventually croaked. Enjolras was staring straight into his eyes now, hand still resting on his upper arm. Grantaire thought he might try to kiss him again and waited, afraid to move, for agonising seconds that felt like minutes, as Enjolras swayed almost imperceptibly, as if in the breeze. Enjolras blinked and it seemed the spell was broken. He stood, gingerly removing his hand from Grantaire’s shoulder.  
“Goodnight R.” He all but whispered. Grantaire was still trying to get his breath back.  
“‘Night.” He managed. Enjolras nodded and walked quietly back inside, leaving the door ajar. Grantaire watched him go, still trying to understand their conversation. If what Combeferre and Jehan and everyone, it seemed, had told him was true, that meant that Enjolras, always so brave and forthright and commanding, couldn’t seem to take what he wanted from Grantaire, as much as he’d like him to. He couldn’t even ask. Grantaire found himself puzzling over it for hours to no avail; not returning to his room until the first rays of dawn started bleeding into the inky night sky and the birds began singing, still without answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! sorry this is late. i've had such a busy week. submitted my last assignments for uni then packed up all my stuff and moved home! I've also been highly engaged with the george floyd protests over the last few days which has left little time or energy for anything else.
> 
> I'm white and I know people generally read fanfic to escape so I won't talk in depth about the issue here. But I will say that I hope anyone reading this who has been affected by the issues we're protesting or has gone out and joined a march is doing ok. All my love and support is with you. This fandom, by nature, is so inclusive and progressive, and full of such brave and intelligent activists and advocates for change. I've taken a lot of comfort and joy in being part of this community of fans in recent days and over the last few years.
> 
> Here's a great place to start if you're not very aware of what's going on but want to help:  
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
> 
> otherwise i hope you enjoyed the update xxx


	10. Chapter 10

The group began focusing on the outside; not the fields, but the area around the house. While the others started clearing the overgrown plant-life, Grantaire and Bahorel offered to sift the debris out of the pool in advance of the cleaning chemicals.  
“Ah fuck, I’ve dropped the net in the pool.” Bahorel swore, before turning to look at Grantaire imploringly. Grantaire just sighed affectionately, shucking off his shirt and jumping in after it with what he hoped was a large splash.  
“Ugh, this is so gross.” Grantaire spat when he surfaced, clutching the net. “You owe me.” He told an annoyingly dry Bahorel as he peeled a leaf off his forehead. He passed the net up to him before clambering out onto the hot paving stones.  
“I don’t know, you were pretty quick to get in there. Reckon I did you a favour.” Bahorel joked. Grantaire grinned, lingering with his feet still submerged in the cool water as the rest of his body practically steamed dry in the afternoon heat.  
“Maybe.” He allowed, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the sun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone swimming. He and his friends would splash around in the creek near his house when he was a child; but you couldn’t have paid him to dip a toe in one of Paris’ public pools so it just hadn’t been something he’d done in recent years.  
“Oh heyyy…” Came a mischievous voice. Grantaire quickly opened his eyes, seeking out the voice’s owner. “Looks like you’re working hard.” Courfeyrac smirked as he arrived at the poolside, a miserable looking Enjolras trailing behind him. He stopped abruptly when he looked up and saw Grantaire, a searing blush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck until it disappeared beneath the collar of his his t-shirt. Grantaire quickly grabbed his own discarded shirt and pulled it on, the fabric dragging over his still-damp torso. Not that he was embarrassed by how he looked. Although he hadn’t been working out much over the summer, he was still fit from years of boxing as a hobby and then for their university team. No, he wasn’t embarrassed, he just couldn’t cope feeling so vulnerable and, well, naked in front of Enjolras right now. They hadn’t said a word to each other since Enjolras’ request on the terrace the night before. “We just came to tell you two we’re making lunch. Right Enj?” Courfeyrac explained. Enjolras nodded at the ground.  
“We’ll be right down. We’re almost done.” Grantaire told them, hurriedly.  
“It looks like you’ve already downed tools.” Courfeyrac laughed. “Come on, walk down with us.”  
“Ok.” Bahorel agreed easily, putting down the net and following Courf back down the steps towards the house. Grantaire shuffled after them, accidentally falling into step next to Enjolras like a pair of magnets clicking together. He risked glancing over at him, incase Enjolras was willing to offer any clues as to where he stood with him now. His guarded expression and apparent fascination with his own shoes said not.  
“You ok?” He asked, not able to think of anything else to say.  
“Yes.” Was Enjolras’ clipped response.  
“Alright.” He allowed. “Do you-“  
“Let’s just not talk about it, ok?” Enjolras stated suddenly, still avoiding Grantaire’s eye, staring directly ahead. Grantaire didn’t say anything. Obviously that was not ok. “Good.” Enjolras said, taking his silence for agreement, and he marched ahead, catching up with Bahorel and leaving Grantaire feeling frustrated and lost and, well, confused more than anything. He felt a headache coming on, as if Enjolras’ hot and cold act was giving him brain freeze.

The weather cooled a bit in the following days, which was a relief to Grantaire as he laboured over his flourishing vegetable patch, which is now full of short but healthy, leafy plants, and even some small, green tomatoes.  
“Is any of it ready for eating?” Courfeyrac asked, peering over Grantaire’s shoulder as he weeded his garden.  
“Not yet. It’ll still be quite bitter if you pick anything now. It’s better to wait.”  
“Hmm…” Courfeyrac thought for a moment before running over to Jehan and taking them by the hand. The two of them disappearing around the side of the house, whispering conspiratorially about something or other.  
“Where are they going?” Enjolras asked with annoyance, wobbling dangerously at the top of the rusted old ladder they’d found in the basement as he and Combeferre tackled the monstrous tangle of dead ivy climbing the walls and the wooden beams of the straw cover.  
“Didn’t say.” Grantaire called back.  
“They better not be trying to get out of helping.” Bahorel grumbled as he unceremoniously shoved plant debris into sacks and dragged them over to the car.

The sun had drifted a little way across the sky, and a few clouds had even straggled together, before Courfeyrac and Jehan returned, a couple of white flowers tangled in Courf’s curls and each cradling a pile of pomegranates in their arms.  
“Where the hell did you find those?” Grantaire asked, bemused, as the others gathered around them, accepting the fruit eagerly.  
“That would be telling!” Jehan laughed.  
“I’ll go find a knife.” Combeferre offered.  
“No need.” Grantaire stopped him, pushing his thumbs into the soft top of his pomegranate. “They’re ripe enough. You can just rip them open.” They all copied Grantaire’s tactic, with varied degrees of success. Courfeyrac was a little too enthusiastic and a spray of blood-red juice spattered across his face and neck as the fruit split in his hands.  
“Do I look like Lady MacBeth?!” He asked, striking a ridiculous pose.  
“You look like a dumbass who got juice on his face.” Combeferre deadpanned, a hint of fondness in his eyes betraying him as he smudged the juice along Courfeyrac’s cheekbone with his thumb. Courf just laughed and pushed himself onto his toes to plant a chaste kiss at the corner of Ferre’s mouth. Grantaire smiled, glancing involuntarily at Enjolras who did the same thing at the same time. Grantaire jolted at the eye contact, blushing furiously as his jerked his gaze away. The image of Enjolras, smiling airily, lips stained from the fruit and red juice beading in lines along his pale, slender hands, all the way to his wrists, burnt in Grantaire’s mind. He’d always thought of Enjolras as Apollo, god of sunlight and music and healing and everything bright and good; but maybe he was Hades, ineffable keeper of his soul.  
“Right.” Enjolras started suddenly, tossing the rest of his pomegranate into the nearest sack. “I’m going to go into town and get the pool chemicals and drop off the rubbish. Will you come with me Grantaire?” It wasn’t quite a question. Grantaire saw Courfeyrac waggle his eyebrows out of the corner of his eye but managed to keep his gaze and voice steady as he looked back at Enjolras and nodded.  
“Yeah. No problem.” It was a problem.

“Looks like it might rain.” Grantaire murmured softly, as the two men drove the now familiar route towards Murol. Heavy clouds had begun to congregate on the horizon and there was a freshness to the air he hadn’t felt all summer. “Can’t even remember the last time it rained-“  
“Grantaire, listen.” Enjolras began speaking as though he hadn’t heard him, and with the urgency of a newscaster who was behind his autocue. “I want to apologise for the other evening.” Grantaire waited, not wanting to ask him to be more specific about which evening he was apologising for. “It was selfish and, and wrong of me to tell you what to do.”  
“There’s really no need-“ Grantaire tried to reassure him, really not wanting to have this conversation while trapped in a moving vehicle. Or at all for that matter.  
“No. There is. I am sorry. It was… controlling. And you’re under no obligation to promise me anything. Just because I’ve got issues-“  
“God, you’re so stubborn.” Grantaire snapped, desperately. “I said its fine, Enj. You weren’t asking for anything I didn’t want to give you anyway.” A long silence followed his statement. Grantaire could see Enjolras staring at him in his periphery but he focused intently on the road, and a good thing too as they started to drift over the centre line into the wrong lane and Grantaire had to reach over and yank the wheel back, ignoring the feeling of Enjolras’ small hand under his. Enjolras tensed, bony shoulders rising up to his ears, as the car jerked back into the right lane and he continued to drive, shakily, for another minute before sighing and pulling over onto the side of the road, putting on the hazards before turning off the engine. Silence. In the absence of the engine and the rushing breeze, the quiet had a weight to it that Grantaire couldn’t stand. Only the blinking of the hazards and the pair’s breathing made any noise at all. They both went to talk at once, immediately stopping to let the other speak. Enjolras huffed with a tinge of desperation. He looked like he might cry.  
“I care about you.” He forced out, abruptly. “And I guess you don’t feel the same way I do… But I want to keep you in my life in whatever way you’re comfortable with, because I…”  
“Hang on.” Grantaire shook his head, trying to keep up with Enjolras’ outpouring. “What do you mean I don’t feel the same way? How do you feel?” Enjolras shot him a tortured, accusatory look.  
“You know how I feel. I showed you on the terrace that night. And I feel terrible for putting you in that position, for making you uncomfortable-“  
“You didn’t. I- What-“ Grantaire put his hands over his face for a moment before continuing. “Listen. I didn’t want to take advantage-“ Enjolras’ expression was immediately indignant.  
“Take advantage?! I’m not some fragile, delicate-“ Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of Enjolras being thought of as fragile was so absurd. Enjolras bristled at his laughter though, sobering him.  
“No, listen, you were drunk-“  
“I wasn’t.”  
“Drunker than I was comfortable with.” Grantaire conceded.  
“Guh. Errr.” Enjolras’ expression slackened in surprise. Outside the car it had begun to rain, dark spots quickly covering the previously dusty tarmac. “Wait, is that-“  
“The ONLY reason. Yeah. I didn’t want to do anything just because you were drunk, that you might regret and have you wake up the next morning hating me. I couldn’t bear it.” He said the last part so quietly he wasn’t sure Enjolras could have heard him over the tinny patter of rain hitting the roof, even sitting so close.  
“I don’t know how to hate you.” Came a small voice after a few moments had passed. “Maybe it would be better… easier… if I did.” Grantaire felt like he had been struck in the chest. The dark sky rumbled with thunder in the distance.  
“What the hell does that mean.” He asked, barely above a whisper, not trusting his voice. Enjolras is staring at his hands as he answers.  
“We argue all the time. We’re so different, we don’t make sense, logically speaking.” It’s all Grantaire’s worst fears at once. Enjolras knows how terrible he is. He knows he’s not worth his time. “I can’t imagine how we could work out but I just can’t stop feeling the way I do about you.” Enjolras was still speaking but Grantaire could barely hear him.  
“What feeling?” He bit.  
“You know…” Enjolras wouldn’t look him in the eyes.  
“You can’t even say it.” Grantaire was shaking now. “You can’t even look at me. You say you want to- but its like.. you don’t even try-“ Enjolras’ head shot up at that, his eyes like the blue of a flame.  
“I did try!”  
“You made a pass while you were drunk!” Grantaire echoed Eponine’s words from the week before, throwing the passenger door open and launching himself out into the downpour.  
“No!” Enjolras exclaimed, scrambling out on the driver’s side. Grantaire could only see his head and shoulders over the top of the car.  
“Enjolras, if I’m just an easy option-“  
“No.” He said again, shaking his head. “No-“  
“-Because you’ve got damage and you don’t know how to get close to people and you think, ‘well, he’s here making it so straightforward!’” Grantaire’s mouth was starting to run away from him.  
“Grantaire! That’s not fair.” Enjolras’ voice was thick and anguished, his hair and clothes already soaked from the rain, fat droplets running down his forehead and into his eyes. Grantaire knew it wasn’t fair. He knew he was being a dick, using something like this against him, something told in confidence. But he couldn’t stop. It was so easy and familiar, putting up defences, pushing Enjolras away. He leant into it.  
“You don’t even like me.” He stated coldly. “You think I’m just some asshole who’s good for fixing up your house and offloading your shit.”  
“Grantaire. I…” Enjolras’ face was desolate and Grantaire’s heart twinged with a sickly guilt. But he just stared back at him, holding his gaze. Moments passed as he watched Enjolras teeter on the edge of something. He looked like he was trying not to vomit. Eventually his shoulders sagged in defeat.  
“Forget this Enjolras, just. Just drive us to the damn store.” Grantaire insisted, folding himself back into the stupidly small car and slamming the door shut. “And turn the fucking hazards off, will you!” Enjolras’ eyes are wide and searching as he clambers back into his seat, dripping all over the vinyl.  
“‘Aire, please, I-“ But Grantaire turns away sharply, folding his arms across his chest and staring hard out of the window. Enjolras gulps and starts the car.

That night Grantaire lay awake on the stiff mattress in the bare fourth bedroom feeling wretched. He fiddles with his phone, opening and closing his conversations with Eponine, then Musichetta, before locking it again and tossing it aside with a groan. He threw his arm over his face and thought about how even just last month he would have taken any crumb of attention from Enjolras without complaint. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He should just let himself be a charity case if it meant he could be closer to his Apollo. He heard a creak in the hallway and held his breath, but he didn’t hear anything more, writing it off as ‘old house noise’ with a heavy exhale. He’d have to just suck it up and apologise, he told himself. And hope it’s not too late, he thought bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mr darcy whom??? between them i think these two have looking sexy while wet and making absolutely disasterous attempts at confessions DOWN

**Author's Note:**

> *Claire Saffitz voice* I want you to know that I can accept zero criticism right now.  
> Trying to update every monday(/tuesday)


End file.
